in a dead
faint. I wonder Susan ventured with that blackguard about. She
brought Miss Stella to and helped or carried her back. She's wanderin'
like in her mind ever since, the poor little lady."

"Give me the key," Lady O'Gara said. "Go back and bring Dr. Costello."

"It was what I was venturin' to recommend," said Patsy, giving her the
key.

She went on quickly, a new cause for trouble oppressing her. She had
not waited to ask questions of Patsy.... Was Stella very ill? What
had happened to the poor child? How was she going to tell Terry?
These were some of the questions that hammered at her ears as she
hurried on as fast as her feet could carry her.

She was at the South lodge before she remembered the dogs. Shot might
be trusted to be quiet, but the Poms, in a strange house, would bark
incessantly. She shut the gate between them and her, leaving it
unlocked for the doctor. Their shrill protests followed her as she
went down the road.

She stood by the gable-end of the house and called up to the window,
open at the top, which she knew to be that of Stella's room. While she
waited expectantly, she became aware of a low voice talking very
quickly in a queer monotonous way. Susan came to the window and looked
out above the lace blind. She made a signal that she would open the
gate and disappeared.

Lady O'Gara went on to the gate and saw Susan coming down the little
avenue. Susan, dropping the curtsey which had doubtless been the meed
of the Squire's lady, opened the gate for her.

"I'm troubled about the poor young lady, m'lady," she said, jerking her
thumb backwards towards the cottage. "I wish her mother'd come back.
She do keep callin' for her, somethink pitiful."

"Leave the gate open, Susan; I expect the doctor immediately."

"I'm sorry for your own trouble, m'lady," Susan said. "I hope Sir
Shawn's doin' nicely now?"

"There is no change yet. But the doctor seems confident."

"There: I _am_ pleased," said Susan.

They went back to the little house, Susan explaining and apologizing.
She did not know how she had come to sleep so soundly. She supposed it
must have been because she'd been sleeping the fox's sleep, keeping one
eye open on Miss Stella, for several nights past, till she was fair
worn out. Still, she didn't ought to have done it.

As they stood by the end of the little brass bed on which Stella lay,
tossing in fever, she told the rest of the tale--how she had awakened