Ethelyn's Mistake

He was there, then, next to her, separated by only a thin partition--the

husband whom she had not seen for five long years, whom she had

voluntarily left, resolving never to go back to him again, was there,

where, just by crossing a single threshold, she could fall at his feet

and sue for the forgiveness she had made up her mind to crave should she

ever see him again. Dr. Hayes' next call was upon her, and he found her

fainting upon the floor, where she had fallen in the excitement of the

shock she had experienced.

"It was a headache," she said, when questioned as to the cause of the

sudden attack; but her eyes had in them a frightened, startled look, for

which the doctor could not account.

There was something about her case which puzzled and perplexed him. "She

needed perfect quiet, but must not be left alone," he said, and so all

that night Richard, who was very wakeful, watched the light shining out

into the hall from the room next to his own, and heard occasionally a

murmur of low voices as the nurse put some question to Ethie, who

answered always in whispers, while her eyes turned furtively toward No.

102, as if fearful that its occupant would hear and know how near she

was. For three whole days her door was locked against all intruders, for

the headache and nervous excitement did not abate one whit. How could

they, when every sound from No. 102, every footfall on the floor, every

tone of Richard's voice speaking to servant or physician, quickened the

rapid beats and sent the hot blood throbbing fiercely through the temple

veins and down along the neck? At Clifton they are accustomed to every

phase of nervousness, from spasms at the creaking of a board to the

stumbling upstairs of the fireman in the early winter morning, and once

when Ethie shuddered and turned her head aside at the sound of Richard's

step, the attendant said to the physician: "It's the gentleman's boots, I think, which make her nervous."

There was a deprecating gesture on Ethie's part, but it passed

unnoticed, and when next the doctor went to visit Richard he said, in a

half-apologetic way, that the young lady in the next room was suffering

from a violent headache, which was aggravated by every sound, even the

squeak of a boot--would Governor Markham greatly object to wearing

slippers for a while? Dr. Hayes was sorry to trouble him, but "if they

would effect a cure they must keep their patients quiet, and guard

against everything tending to increase nervous irritation."