She flung her arms round Bee and clung to her as if in a despairing appeal for help; and the silence now was broken only by Bee's weeping.
"Don't cry!" Patricia whispered in her turn. "Don't! But—it's such a comfort! It has been—awful! And I mustn't even cry. They say—if I go on as I did—it will make me blind!"
Bee had hardly voice to whisper—"Poor darling!"—once more.
"Hold me tight! Bee—don't go. To think that you—care! I shan't feel so alone now! Hold me—tighter!"
Magda might have moved or spoken, not being tactful, but nurse's hand on her arm insisted on silence. Any sound or stir might break the spell. Presently Patricia's voice was heard again in a note of subdued passion and vehement appeal.
"Bee—Bee—help me! I want help! I don't know what to do. I don't know how to bear it! . . . Bee—I've been so wicked! I've been longing to die! And nobody helped me . . . I know—it was my own fault. I wouldn't see any one—who could. But I—I—couldn't make up my mind. You'll come now— sometimes—come and help me!"
That hand on Magda's arm bade her go. She obeyed without a word, and it did not seem that Patricia even remembered their presence or noticed their departure. Nurse closed the door softly when they were outside.
"If anybody can do that poor thing good—she will!" came with a slight break.
"Nurse, is Patricia getting on? Will she be well in time?"
"She gets on slowly. She would get on faster, if she cared."