"Yes," I replied; "to be frank with you, I should say that Lady Studley
was consumptive."

He started when I said this, and pressed his lips firmly together. After
a moment he spoke.

"You are right," he replied. "I had her examined by a medical man--Sir
Joseph Dunbar--when I was last in London; he said her lungs were
considerably affected, and that, in short, she was far from well."

"Did he not order you to winter abroad?"

"He did, but Lady Studley opposed the idea so strenuously that I was
obliged to yield to her entreaties. Consumption does not seem to take
quite the ordinary form with her. She is restless, she longs for cool
air, she goes out on quite cold days, in a closed carriage, it is true.
Still, except at night, she does not regard herself in any sense as an
invalid. She has immense spirit--I think she will keep up until
she dies."

"You speak of her being an invalid at night," I replied. "What are her
symptoms?"

Sir Henry shuddered quite visibly.

"Oh, those awful nights!" he answered. "How happy would many poor mortals
be, but for the terrible time of darkness. Lady Studley has had dreadful
nights for some time: perspirations, cough, restlessness, bad dreams,
and all the rest of it. But I must hasten to tell you my story quite