The doctor growled an impatient response, but so muttered and mumbled the words that the nurse could not make them out.  Mr. Ridley was in the room, standing with folded arms a little way from the bed, stern and haggard, with wild, congested eyes and closely shut mouth, a picture of anguish, fear and remorse.

The two physicians remained with Mrs. Ridley for over twenty minutes before deciding on their line of treatment.  A prescription was then made, and careful instructions given to the nurse.

“I will call again in the course of two or three hours,” said Dr. Hillhouse, on going away.  “Should any thing unfavorable occur, send to the office immediately.”

“Doctor!” Mr. Ridley laid his hand on the arm of Dr. Hillhouse.  “What of my wife?” There was a frightened look in his pale, agitated face.  His voice shook.

“She is in danger,” replied the doctor.

“But you know what to do?  You can control the disease?  You have had such cases before?”

“I will do my best,” answered the doctor, trying to move on; but Mr. Ridley clutched his arm tightly and held him fast: 

“Is it—­is it—­puer-p-p—­” His voice shook so that he could not articulate the word that was on his tongue.

“I am afraid so,” returned the doctor.

A deep groan broke from the lips of Mr. Ridley.  His hand dropped from the arm of Dr. Hillhouse and he stood trembling from head to foot, then cried out in a voice of unutterable despair: 

“From heaven down to hell in one wild leap!  God help me!”

Dr. Hillhouse was deeply moved at this.  He had felt stern and angry, ready each moment to accuse and condemn, but the intense emotion displayed by the husband shocked, subdued and changed his tone of feeling.

“You must calm, yourself, my dear sir,” he said.  “The case looks bad, but I have seen recovery in worse cases than this.  We will do our best.  But remember that you have duties and responsibilities that must not fail.”

“Whatsoever in me lies, doctor,” answered Mr. Ridley, with a sudden calmness that seemed supernatural, “you may count on my doing.  If she dies, I am lost.”  There was a deep solemnity in his tones as he uttered this last sentence.  “You see, sir,” he added, “what I have at stake.”

“Just for the present little more can be done than to follow the prescriptions we have given and watch their effect on the patient,” returned Dr. Hillhouse.  “If any change occurs, favorable or unfavorable, let us know.  If your presence in her room should excite or disturb her in any way, you must prudently abstain from going near her.”

The two physicians went away with but little hope in their hearts for the sick woman.  Whatever the exciting cause or causes might have been, the disease which had taken hold of her with unusual violence presented already so fatal a type that the issue was very doubtful.

CHAPTER VIII.