He was her Michael--it was just that
which was becoming evident, since nothing else would account for her
claim of him, unconsciously whispered by herself to herself.
It was not long before Lady Ashbridge's nurse appeared, to take her
upstairs to rest. At that her patient became suddenly and unaccountably
agitated: all the happy content of the day was wiped off her mind. She
clung to Michael.
"No, no, Michael," she said, "they mustn't take me away. I know they are
going to take me away from you altogether. You mustn't leave me."
Nurse Baker came towards her.
"Now, my lady, you mustn't behave like that," she said. "You know you
are only going upstairs to rest as usual before dinner. You will see
Lord Comber again then."
She shrank from her, shielding herself behind Michael's shoulder.
"No, Michael, no!" she repeated. "I'm going to be taken away from you.
And look, Miss--ah, my dear, I have forgotten your name--look, she has
got no hat on. She was going to stop with me a long time. Michael, must
I go?"
Michael saw the nurse looking at her, watching her with that quiet eye
of the trained attendant.
Then she spoke to Michael.
"Well, if Lord Comber will just step outside with me," she said, "we'll
see if we can arrange for you to stop a little longer.
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