— 27 —When Sir Charles Collier arrived at the Old Priory, the daylight was flowing into the sickroom, and the patient was partially unconscious. All Mrs. Sacret’s experience and care had not availed to rid the room of disorder, disagreeable odors and the unpleasant litter attendant on a serious illness; she, also, looked pale and slightly disheveled. Both the attendant physicians spoke warmly of her skillful and energetic nursing.
Martin Rue glared from his pillows with sunken, red and angry eyes. Questioned yet again by Sir Charles Collier as to what he had taken he replied with weak anger—“If I knew I should not have sent for you—what the devil do I want three doctors for if I know what is wrong with me?”
“Disease won’t account for your state,” said Sir Charles gravely. “You are poison
