Page:Elizabeth Jordan--Tales of the cloister.djvu/139

 and quietly followed behind the scenes the usher who gave it.

She was there, and there, too, was the shadow, at least, of "little Randolph." The paint had been washed off her face, and the gorgeous costume of the evening was replaced by a simple dressing-gown. She lay on a sofa, breathing heavily, her brown lashes resting on cheeks whose pallor was startling. An agitated maid and several superfluous attendants bustled around her.

Dr. Raymond went to work with professional coolness; other doctors came, and they applied remedies until her eyes once more opened on life. The faces of the physicians had been very grave, but they at once took on a smile of professional cheerfulness as the great brown eyes roved in turn to each of them.

"I've been ill," said the Convent Girl, "very ill, I think." She recognized Dr. Raymond, and smiled faintly. "I saw you in the audience. You must make me well. Please come to see me in the morning," and having thus indicated her choice of a physician, she signed to her maid to take her home.

In the morning Dr. Raymond found her dressed, but very pale and with exhausted vitality. She met him with an affectation of confidence that moved him strangely.