The fear he had felt when he held her in his arms was clutching anew at Craven and his face grew grey under the deep tan. "What is the matter with her?" Something in his voice made the doctor look at him more closely. "That, my dear sir," he parried, "is rather a leading question." "I have a right to know," interrupted Craven quickly. "You will pardon me if I ask--what right?" was the equally quick rejoinder.
The blood surged back hotly into Craven's face.
"The right of the man whose existence you very justly doubted," he said heavily. The doctor straightened himself with a jerk. "You are Mrs. Craven's husband! Then you will forgive me if I say that you have not come back any too soon. I am glad for your wife's sake that the myth is a reality," he said gravely. Craven stood rigidly still, and it seemed to him that his heart stopped beating. "I know my wife is delicate, that her lungs are not strong, but what is the cause of this sudden--collapse?" he said slowly, his voice shaking painfully. For a moment the other hesitated and shrugged in evident embarrassment. "There are a variety of causes--I find it somewhat difficult to say--you couldn't know, of course--"
Craven cut him short. "You needn't spare my feelings," he said hoarsely. "For God's sake speak plainly.
"In a word then--though I hate to have to say it--starvation." The keen eyes fixed on him softened into sudden compassion but Craven did not see them. He saw nothing, for the room was spinning madly round him and he staggered back against the window catching at the woodwork behind him.
"Oh, my God!" he whispered, and wiped the blinding moisture from his eyes. If it had been possible for her gentle nature to contemplate revenge she could have planned no more terrible one than this. But in his heart he knew that it was not revenge. For a moment he could not speak, then with an effort he mastered himself. He could give no explanation to this stranger, that lay between him and her alone.
"There was no need," he said at last dully, forcing the words with difficulty; "she misunderstood--I can't explain. Only tell me what I can do--anything that will cure her. There isn't any permanent injury, is there--I haven't really come too late?" he gasped, with an agony of appeal in his voice. The American shook his head. "You ran it very fine," he said, with a quick smile, "but I guess you've come in time, right enough. There isn't anything here that money can't cure. Her lungs are not over strong, her heart is temporarily strained, and her nerves are in tatters. But if you can take her to the south--or better still, Egypt--?" he hesitated with a look of enquiry, and as Craven nodded, continued with more assurance, "Good! then there's no reason why she shouldn't be a well woman in time. She's constitutionally delicate but there's nothing organically wrong. Take her away as soon as possible, feed her up--and keep her happy. That's all she wants. I'll look in again this evening." And with another reassuring smile and a firm handclasp he was gone.