Faith offered to go too, and assist her. But her aunt said, no, she should do quite well with Glory. "And if the Sampson woman comes, send her in to me."
Faith was astonished, and a little frightened.
What could it be that Miss Henderson wanted with the nurse? Was it professionally that she wished to see her? She knew the peculiar whim, or principle, Miss Sampson always acted on, of never taking cases of common illness. She could not have sent for her in the hope of keeping her merely to wait upon her wants as an invalid, and relieve Glory? Was her aunt aware of symptoms in herself, foretokening other or more serious illness?
Faith could only wonder, and wait.
Glory came back, presently, into the southeast room, to say to Faith that her aunt was comfortable, and thought she should get a nap. But that whenever the nurse came, she was to be shown in to her.
The next half hour, that happened which drove even this thought utterly from Faith's mind.
Paul Rushleigh came.
Faith lay, a little wearily, upon the couch her aunt had quitted; and was thinking, at the very moment—with that sudden, breathless anticipation that sweeps over one, now and then, of a thing awaited apprehensively—of whether this Saturday night would not probably bring him home—when she caught the sound of a horse's feet that stopped before the house, and then a man's step upon the stoop.
It was his. The moment had come.
She sprang to her feet. For an instant she would have fled—anywhither. Then she grew strangely calm and strong. She must meet him quietly. She must tell him plainly. Tell him, if need be, all she knew herself. He had a right to all.