"Well," I said, "I shall have an interview with your wife to-morrow, and
urge her most strongly to consent to leave the Grange and go away
with you."

Shortly afterwards we retired to rest, or what went by the name of rest
in that sad house, with its troubled inmates. I must confess that,
comfortable as my room was, I slept very little. Sir Henry's story
stayed with me all through the hours of darkness. I am neither nervous
nor imaginative, but I could not help seeing that terrible eye, even in
my dreams.

I met my host and hostess at an early breakfast. Sir Henry proposed that
as the day was warm and fine, I should ride to a neighbouring meet. I
was not in the humour for this, however, and said frankly that I should
prefer remaining at the Grange. One glance into the faces of my host and
hostess told me only too plainly that I had two very serious patients on
my hands. Lady Studley looked terribly weak and excited--the hectic
spots on her cheeks, the gleaming glitter of her eyes, the parched lips,
the long, white, emaciated hands, all showed only too plainly the
strides the malady under which she was suffering was making.

"After all, I cannot urge that poor girl to go abroad," I said to
myself. "She is hastening rapidly to her grave, and no power on earth
can save her. She looks as if there were extensive disease of the lungs.
How restless her eyes are, too! I would much rather testify to Sir
Henry's sanity than to hers."

Sir Henry Studley also bore traces of a sleepless night--his face was
bloodless; he averted his eyes from mine; he ate next to nothing.