Ruben Finnegan pushed the door open and came out of the master bedroom, his white robe drenched in sweat. You could clearly see beads of sweat gathering like a small stream at the hem, dripping down onto the floor.
Obby Stuart rushed forward, concerned, and asked, "Master, are you okay? You don't look too well."
"I'll be fine after a bit of rest." Ruben Finnegan waved his hand gracefully.
Isabella Lindsey handed him a fresh cup of hot tea and gazed at him lying paralyzed on the sofa, his cheeks glistening with sweat, guessing in her heart how extensive his exhaustion was.
Then, she took a hot towel from the middle-aged maid and wiped away his sticky sweat.
"Mr. Finnegan, how are our master and madam doing?" the middle-aged maid asked with great concern.
"In about an hour... they'll regain consciousness." Ruben Finnegan closed his eyes and calculated with a slightly trembling voice.
"Really? That's great! Thank you, Mr. Finnegan, thank you..."
