Mrs. Linley looked at him with a wildly-mingled expression of
hope and fear. She was not thinking of herself--she was not even
thinking, for that one moment, of the child. What would her
husband say, if she (who had extorted his promise never to see
the governess again) brought Sydney Westerfield back to the
house?

The doctor spoke to her more strongly still.

"I don't presume to inquire into your private reasons for
hesitating to follow my advice," he said; "but I am bound to tell
you the truth. My poor little patient is in serious danger--every
hour of delay is an hour gained by death. Bring that lady to the
bedside as fast as your carriage can fetch her, and let us see
the result. If Kitty recognizes her governess--there, I tell you
plainly, is the one chance of saving the child's life."

Mrs. Linley's resolution flashed on him in her weary eyes--the
eyes which, by day and night alike, had known so little rest. She
rang for her maid. "Tell your master I want to speak to him."

The woman answered: "My master has gone out."

The doctor watched the mother's face. No sign of hesitation
appeared in it--the one thought in her mind now was the thought
of the child. She called the maid back.

"Order the carriage."