From the beginning Dr. Suydam had pronounced the case peculiarly difficult and dangerous, and as the days wore on, bringing no debatement of cerebral excitement, he expressed the opinion that some terrible shock had produced the aberration that baffled his skill, and threatened to permanently disorder her faculties.

Jealously Regina concealed all that had occurred on the evening of her return, and though Mrs. Palma briefly referred to her daughter’s unfortunate attachment to an unworthy man, whose marriage had painfully startled her, she remained unaware of the revelations made by Olga.  Although she evinced no recognition of those about her, the latter shrank from all save Regina whose tender ministrations were peculiarly soothing; and clinging to the girl’s hand, she would smilingly talk of the peace and happiness reaped at last by her marriage with Belmont Eggleston, and enjoin upon her the necessity of preserving from “mamma and Erle Palma” the secret of her secluded little cottage home.

On the fourth night, Mrs. Palma was so prostrated by grief and watching, that she succumbed to a violent nervous headache, and was ordered out of the room by the physician, who requested that Regina might for a few hours be entrusted with the care of his patient.

“But if anything should happen?  And Regina is so inexperienced?” sobbed the unhappy mother, bending over her child, who was laughing at the gambols of some young chamois, which delirium painted on the wall.

“Miss Orme will at least obey my orders.  She is watchful and possesses unusual self-control, which you, my dear madam, utterly lack in a sick-room.  Beside, Olga yields more readily to her than to any one else, and I prefer that Miss Orme should have the care of her.  Go to bed, madam, and I will send you an anodyne that will compose you.”

“If any change occurs, you will call me instantly?”

“You may rest assured I shall.”

Mrs. Palma leaned over her daughter, and as her tears fell on the burning face of the sufferer, the latter put up her hands, and said: 

“Belmont, it is raining and your picture will be ruined, and then mamma will ridicule your failure.  Cover it quick.”

“Olga, my darling, kiss mamma good-night.”

But she was busy trying to shield the imaginary painting with one of the pillows, and began in a quavering voice to sing Longfellow’s “Rainy Day.”  Her mother pressed her lips to the hot cheek, but she seemed unconscious of the caress, and weeping bitterly Mrs. Palma left the room.  As she passed into the hall a cry escaped her, and the broken words: 

“Oh, Erle, I thought you would never come!  My poor child!”

Dr. Suydam closed the door, and drawing Regina to the window, proceeded to question her closely, and to instruct her concerning the course of treatment he desired to pursue.  Should Olga’s pulse sink to a certain stage, specified doses must be given; and in a possible condition of the patient he must be instantly notified.