white and shrivelled, and her tongue clove to the roof of her mouth.
Then she threw up her arms and fell heavily to the floor.




XIV.


After Weir had been carried up-stairs, and he had ascertained that she
was again conscious, Dartmouth went to his own room, knowing he could
not see her again that night. He did not go to bed; there was
no possibility of sleep for hours, and he preferred the slight
distraction of pacing up and down the room. After a time he paused
in front of the fireplace, and mechanically straightened one of the
andirons with his foot. What had affected Weir so strangely? Had the
whole thing burst suddenly upon her? He had hardly told her enough for
that; but what else could it be? Poor child! And poor Sir Iltyd! How
should he explain to him? What story could he concoct to satisfy him?
It would be absurd to attempt the truth; no human being but himself
and Weir could comprehend it; Sir Iltyd would only think them both
mad. He unconsciously drew in a long breath, expelling the air again
with some violence, like a man whose chest is oppressed. And how his
head ached! If he could only get a few hours sleep without that cursed
laudanum. Hark! what was that? A storm was coming up. It almost shook
the castle, solid and of stone as it was. But he was glad. A storm was
more in tune with his mood than calm. He would go out into the gallery
and watch it.

He left his room and went to the gallery to which he had gone to watch