by Clark South
Mark'seardrums. Echoed through the stillness of the sleep-bound house like abanshee's wail.
The man's hand knocked up the switch. Flooded the room with light. Evenas he did so he was whirling. Springing back to Elaine's side. Andbarely in time, for her backbone seemed to have turned to water. Herlimp body was slipping to the floor in a nerveless heap, her musclesslack and unresponding. By a miracle of balance, Mark's hands caught herin time to break the force of her fall. He lifted her, unresisting, inhis arms. Her ashen lips still were moving in the faintest of whispers--
"_... je t'aime, mon cher, je t'aime...._"
Her voice trailed off. A great sigh shook her. She lay unconscious inhis arms.
Mark's brain was spinning like a top within his skull. He was breathinghard, and he was trembling, as if he had just run a long way.
"... I love you, my dear, I love you...."
That was what she had said.
_But why had she spoken in French?_
Even as he hesitated in an agony of indecision, the door burst open. Thefrail, white-haired figure of Professor Duchard, Elaine's father,stumbled into the room. His eyes were sleep-fogged, and spindly,pajama-clad legs showed below the dressing gown he had thrown about histhin shoulders.
"What is it? What has happened?" he mumbled. Even in his dazed state, hepronounced every syllable. There were no slurrings nor contractions inProfessor Duchard's punctilious vocabulary.
"Elaine's fainted."
"Then carry her to her room. I shall get smelling salts from themedicine cabinet."
Turning, the professor scurried away. Mark followed, Elaine's soft bodystill limp and yielding in his arms. Ascending the stairs to her room,he laid her tenderly on the bed. Even as he did so, the girl's fatherhurried to his side, a dark green bottle in his hand. The old man wasmore fully awake now, and he looked down at his daughter with keen,intelligent eyes. Although outwardly he appeared calm, there was alittle flicker of worry deep within those sharp blue optics.
"This should revive her!" he announced, waving the bottle. Pulling outthe glass stopper, he held the container close under the girl's nose.
Elaine drew a little breath. The fumes swirled into her nostrils. Shechoked. Jerked spasmodically.
And slumped back, still unconscious!
Again the professor applied the carbonate of ammonium.
Again the results were the same.
The old man straightened.
"I do not like this," he clipped. "You had better tell me just whathappened."
Mark shifted nervously under the scrutiny of the sharp blue eyes.
"Start at the beginning," the professor commanded. "I want to know fromexactly what this 'fainting spell' resulted."
* * * * *
The younger man nodded slowly.
"It all began after you went to bed," he explained. "I said good-nightto Elaine, then decided to step outside and have a smoke before I turnedin myself.
"When I got upstairs, Elaine opened her door. She already wasundressed--had on the negligee she's wearing now. She said she wasn'tsleepy, and that she'd decided to come back down for another look at thepresents. So I came along...."
Carefully, yet concisely, Mark outlined the events which had precededthe girl's collapse. When he had finished, Professor Duchard looked evenmore worried than before.
"I do not like what you tell me," he informed the younger man. "Ibelieve this is a case for a doctor. A good one. I have a friend who isa neurologist. I shall call him."
He disappeared toward the telephone.
Not once in the half-hour preceding the specialist's arrival did thegirl stir. She lay upon the big double bed like a lovely corpse,unmoving save for the slight rise and fall of her breasts as shebreathed.
The neurologist examined her with keen interest.
"A remarkable case!" he declared. "Her pulse and respiration have slowedto the point where they are scarcely apparent."
Professor Duchard nodded slowly.
"But what does it mean?" exploded Mark, beside him, his handsome youngface pale and haggard. "Why can't you revive her?"
The doctor frowned, pinched his chin thoughtfully.
"A remarkable case!" he repeated slowly. "To be frank about it, I can'tfind the slightest clue as to what's wrong. She seems in a perfect stateof health. Organically I can detect no possible cause for this coma. Yetshe doesn't respond to any resuscitatory measures."
"But there must be something--"
The specialist shot Mark a disapproving glance. Without a word he openedhis bag, taking from it a smaller case of instruments. He selected along, slender dissecting needle. Plunged its point into a bottle ofdisinfectant.
"Watch me!" he commanded.
Turning to the bed, he plunged the needle an eighth of an inch into theunconscious girl's breast!
Mark's eyes went wide with horror. He started forward. Found himselfhalted by Professor Duchard's hand.
"You asked a question, Mark!" the white-haired scientist rapped. "Thedoctor merely is giving you his answer. Look at her!"
Elaine had not stirred! If anything, she lay even more still thanbefore, not a muscle so much as quivering. Her eyes were closed, herface calm, her golden hair halo-like about her head.
The neurologist bared her thigh. Again plunged in the needle.
She did not move.
A dozen times the physician pricked her, moving over the white surfaceof her body from one nerve center to another. At last he straightened.
* * * * *
"You see?" he demanded grimly. "Anaesthesia is complete. She feelsnothing."
Mark's eyes were horror-stricken. He was breathing hard.
"What does it mean, doctor?" he choked. "What's happened to her?"
The medical man motioned him closer.
"Touch her!" he ordered.
Half-afraid, Mark bent forward. He rested his trembling fingers againstthe girl's breast. The next instant he jerked back, his face gray withshock.
"My God!" he gasped. "She's dead! Her body's getting cold! She's dead!"His face twisted in a grimace of emotional agony.
"No!" contradicted the neurologist.
"What!"
"No," repeated the other. "She's not dead, young man."
"Then what--"
"The closest I can come to it in language you'd understand is to saythat she's falling into a state of suspended animation," the doctoranswered. "Her bodily functions are slowing down. I believe this willcontinue--that eventually her muscles will tighten into catalepsy."
"What will happen eventually?" Professor Duchard broke in.
The neurologist shrugged. "I don't know, professor. My hope is that shesimply will continue to lie in a coma. But there is always thepossibility that the thread of life will break. That she will diewithout recovering consciousness--"
"You can't let her!" cried Mark hysterically, unable to restrain himselflonger. "She musn't die! She musn't! You've got to do something, doctor!There must be a way--"
"--if it can be found!" interrupted Professor Duchard. He again grippedthe younger man's arm. "Do not let yourself go to pieces, my boy. Thatwill not help.
"Because you, yourself, are a man of action, you want our friend, here,to prescribe for Elaine with the same speed and certainty that you wouldgo after a hot news story. Only that is not the way of science, Mark. Wemust be patient and hope for the best, content in the knowledge thateverything possible is being done for Elaine."
He turned to the neurologist.
"What do you recommend, doctor?"
"There's only one thing to do, Professor Duchard. We must place the girlin a hospital, where she can be taken care of properly and kept underobservation."
The aged scientist nodded. "Yes. I thought that would be yoursuggestion."
"If you'll excuse me," the doctor continued, "I shall use your telephoneto make the necessary arrangements."
He left the room.
* *
* * *
Beside the bed, Mark Carter still stared dumbly down at the girl heloved. The girl who tomorrow--no, today, for it was nearly morningnow--was to have become his wife. He tried to speak, but his throat wastoo twisted and thick with pain for words to come. His broad shoulderswere slumped. His brown eyes blurred with tears. A queer, strained soundof awful grief tore itself from somewhere deep within his chest, likethe moan of an animal in torment.
A hand touched his shoulder.
"Come, Mark. We can do no more good here."
Mute, stumbling, broken, Mark allowed Professor Duchard to lead him fromthe room. Down the
