The gate bell rang.  Julius had returned with the doctor.

Anne gave the key to the girl to let them in.  Hester wrote on her slate, as composedly as if nothing had happened:  “They’ll find me in the kitchen, if they want me.  I sha’n’t go back to my bedroom.  My bedroom’s full of bad dreams.”  She descended the stairs.  Anne waited in the upper passage, looking over into the hall below.  “Your brother is in the drawing-room,” she called down to Julius.  “The landlady is in the kitchen, if you want her.”  She returned to her room, and waited for what might happen next.

After a brief interval she heard the drawing-room door open, and the voices of the men out side.  There seemed to be some difficulty in persuading Geoffrey to ascend the stairs; he persisted in declaring that Hester Dethridge was waiting for him at the top of them.  After a little they persuaded him that the way was free.  Anne heard them ascend the stairs and close his bedroom door.

Another and a longer interval passed before the door opened again.  The doctor was going away.  He said his parting words to Julius in the passage.  “Look in at him from time to time through the night, and give him another dose of the sedative mixture if he wakes.  There is nothing to b e alarmed about in the restlessness and the fever.  They are only the outward manifestations of some serious mischief hidden under them.  Send for the medical man who has last attended him.  Knowledge of the patient’s constitution is very important knowledge in this case.”

As Julius returned from letting the doctor out, Anne met him in the hall.  She was at once struck by the worn look in his face, and by the fatigue which expressed itself in all his movements.

“You want rest,” she said.  “Pray go to your room.  I have heard what the doctor said to you.  Leave it to the landlady and to me to sit up.”

Julius owned that he had been traveling from Scotland during the previous night.  But he was unwilling to abandon the responsibility of watching his brother.  “You are not strong enough, I am sure, to take my place,” he said, kindly.  “And Geoffrey has some unreasoning horror of the landlady which makes it very undesirable that he should see her again, in his present state.  I will go up to my room, and rest on the bed.  If you hear any thing you have only to come and call me.”

An hour more passed.

Anne went to Geoffrey’s door and listened.  He was stirring in his bed, and muttering to himself.  She went on to the door of the next room, which Julius had left partly open.  Fatigue had overpowered him; she heard, within, the quiet breathing of a man in a sound sleep.  Anne turned back again resolved not to disturb him.

At the head of the stairs she hesitated—­not knowing what to do.  Her horror of entering Geoffrey’s room, by herself, was insurmountable.  But who else was to do it?  The girl had gone to bed.  The reason which Julius had given for not employing the assistance of Hester Dethridge was unanswerable.  She listened again at Geoffrey’s door.  No sound was now audible in the room to a person in the passage outside.  Would it be well to look in, and make sure that he had only fallen asleep again?  She hesitated once more—­she was still hesitating, when Hester Dethridge appeared from the kitchen.