much for his daughter's recovery from her swoon, which he did not doubt,
as for the effect upon her when she should have come to herself.

It was this which he wished to discuss, sitting fallen back into his
chair, or walking up and down the room, with his head bound with a
bloody handkerchief, and looking, with a sort of alien picturesqueness,
like a kindly brigand.

Lanfear did not leave his place beside the bed where the girl lay, white
and still as if dead. An inexpressible compassion for the poor man
filled his heart. Whatever the event should be, it would be tragical for
him. "Go to sleep, Mr. Gerald," he said. "Your waking can do no good. I
will keep watch, and if need be, I'll call you. Try to make yourself
easy on that couch."

"I shall not sleep," the old man answered. "How could I?" Nevertheless,
he adjusted himself to the hard pillows of the lounge where he had been
sitting and drowsed among them. He woke just before dawn with a start.
"I thought she had come to, and knew everything! What a nightmare! Did I
groan? Is there any change?"

Lanfear, sitting by the bed, in the light of the wasting candle, which
threw a grotesque shadow of him on the wall, shook his head. After a
moment he asked: "How long did you tell me her swoon had lasted after
the accident to her mother?"

"I don't think she recovered consciousness for two days, and then she
remembered nothing. What do you think are the chances of her remembering
now?"