August 1. Saturday Evening.
YESTERDAY afternoon, when I had written those two words, "I cannot—" Nona darted into the room, and seized my dress, with a scared whisper—
"Come! quick! quick! A telegram for you! We are so frightened."
I could see that she was. She looked quite pale and out of breath. I found later that they had met on the road the messenger from the telegraph-office, had guessed his errand, questioned him, and raced back in a body, at full speed, to find out what I should have to tell them.
Elfie showed no signs of waking. In my anxiety to relieve the poor girls' suspense, I rose at once, just closing my journal volume upon a sheet of blotting-paper, but not fastening the spring-lock according to my invariable habit hitherto. Indeed it was not only for the girls' sake that I made all possible haste. A terrible fear crept over me that my dear and loving friend might be no more.
Miss Millington stood in the passage outside. I think I said something to her in passing, but I do not know what; and I remarked with a vague surprise that she did not follow us. Then I forgot her existence.
Maggie, Thyrza, and Denham, with the little ones, were on the gravel-path outside the front porch, waiting for us. Nona hurried me thither,—not faster than I would have gone without her hurrying. I noticed that Popsie and Pet were half crying; that Thyrza was rigid and sad; that Maggie seemed bewildered, yet kept her usual colour. Denham held out the envelope, saying, "We thought you wouldn't like Elfie startled." Afterwards I learnt that they would all have dashed in together, but for Thyrza's remonstrances.
I tore open the thin paper, and read aloud—
"Mother no worse, doctors give hope!"
Dead silence followed, lasting several seconds. Then, to my astonishment, Maggie remarked in a cheerful tone—