A momentary relief was experienced at this departure; but soon mystery was suggested, and a mutual understanding between his wife and Hendrickson imagined.  And so fuel was heaped on the fires of jealousy, which blazed up again as fiercely as ever.  The seclusion of herself in her own room by Mrs. Dexter, following as it did immediately on the departure of Hendrickson, confirmed him in the impression that she was deeply interested in her old lover.  How else could he interpret her conduct?  If she were really sick, conflict of feeling, occasioned by his presence, was the cause.  That to his mind was clear.  And he was not so far wrong; for, in part, here lay the origin of her disturbed condition of mind and body.  Still, his conclusions went far beyond the truth.

Mrs. Dexter was lying on the bed when her husband came up from dinner.  She did not stir on his entrance.  Her face was turned away, and partly hidden by the fringe of a pillow.

“You must eat something,” he said, speaking kindly.  But she neither moved nor replied.

“Jessie.”  No motion or response.

“Jessie!” Mr. Dexter stood a few feet from the bed, looking at her.

“She may be sleeping,” he thought, and stepping forward, he bent down and laid his fingers lightly on her cheek.  It was unnaturally hot.  “Jessie”—­he uttered her name again—­“are you asleep?”

“No.”  She replied in a feeble murmur.

“Won’t you have a cup of tea?”

“No.”

“Are you sick?”

She did not answer.  He laid his hand upon her cheek again.

“You have fever.”

A low sigh was the only response.

“Does your head ache?”

Something was said in reply, but the ear of Mr. Dexter could not make out the words.

“Jessie!  Jessie!  Why don’t you answer me?  Are you sick?”

Mr. Dexter spoke with rising impatience.  Still and silent as an effigy she remained.  For a moment or two he strode about the room, and then went out abruptly.  He came back in half an hour.

There lay his wife as he had left her, and without the appearance of having stirred.  A shadow of deeper concern now fell upon his spirits.  Bending over the bed, and laying his hand upon her face again, he perceived that it was not only flushed, but hotter than before.  He spoke, but her ears seemed shut to his voice.

“Jessie!  Jessie!” He moved her gently, turning her face towards him.  Her eyes were closed, her lips shut firmly, and wearing an expression of pain, her forehead slightly contracted.

“Shall I call a physician?” he asked.

But she did not reply.  Sudden alarm awakened in the heart of Mr. Dexter.  Going to the bell, he rang it violently.  To the servant who came he said, hurriedly—­

“Go and find Dr. G—­, and tell him that I wish to see him immediately.”

The servant departed, and Dexter went back to the bed.  No change had occurred in his wife.  She still lay, to all appearance, in a stupor.  It was nearly a quarter of an hour before Dr. G—­came; the waiter had been at some trouble to find him.