She looked up dazedly, and saw
Brett Mercer.
He said something to her, but it was as if he spoke in an unknown
language. She had not the faintest idea what he meant. His face swam
before her eyes. She shook her head at him vaguely, with quivering lips.
He stooped lower. She felt his arm encircle her, felt him draw her to
her feet. Again he seemed to be speaking, but his words eluded her. The
roar of the great waters filled her brain. Like a lost child she turned
and clung to the supporting arm.
IV
Later, it seemed to her that her senses must have deserted her for a
time, for she never remembered what happened to her next. A multitude of
impressions crowded upon her, but she knew nothing with distinctness
till she woke to find herself lying in a room with green blinds
half-drawn, with Mercer stooping over her, compelling her to drink a
nauseating mixture in a wine-glass.
As soon as full consciousness returned to her she refused to take
another drop.
"What is it? It--it's horrible."
"It's the best stuff you ever tasted," he told her bluntly. "You needn't
get up. You are all right as you are."
But she sat up, nevertheless, and looked at him confusedly.
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