But what I did _not_ know--what I
was now burning to know without delay--was what time had passed since
then.
I called out 'Mother!' A nurse, who was sitting in the room, but
hidden from me by a large carved and corniced oak wardrobe, sprang up
and told me that she would go and fetch my mother.
'Mother,' I said, when she entered the room, 'you've been?'
'Yes,' said she, taking a seat by my bedside, and motioning the nurse
to leave us.
'And you were in time, mother!'
'More than in time,' said she. 'There was nothing to do. I have
realised, however, that your extraordinary and horrible story was
true. It was not a fever-dream. The tomb has been desecrated.'
'But, mother, you went as you promised to the sands in Church Cove,
and you waited for the ebb of the tide?'
'I did.'
'And you found--'
'Nothing; no corpse exposed.'
'And you went again the next day?'
'I did.'
'And you found--'
'Nothing.'
'But how many days have passed, mother? How many days have I been
lying here?'
'Seven.'
'And no sign of--of the body was to be seen?'
'None.
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