She had no time for more than a quick start before the woman leaned over the sill, and, the shawl wrapped about her head and shoulders falling apart a little, in the clear moonlight Lucy saw Trudchen’s pale, troubled face.
“What is it? Is Friedrich sick again?” Lucy asked hurriedly.
Trudchen put a finger to her lips, glancing toward Miss Pearse’s cot, and spoke in an eager whisper.
“Fräulein, forgive me for coming. I need help—and I have nowhere else to go. My little Adelheid is sick now, and I have nothing—I don’t know what to do! Kind Fräulein, will you come?”
At the trembling earnestness of her voice Lucy did not even stop to answer. She was out of bed in a second, but before beginning to dress she asked doubtfully, “Shall I be help enough? I’d better call Miss Pearse.”
Trudchen leaned in the window to catch her arm as she whispered imploringly, “No, no, Fräulein, only you! Otherwise Franz will be still more angry.”
“All right,” Lucy nodded, not stopping to argue. Miss Pearse slept heavily after her long hours of work and she did not stir while Lucy hastily dressed herself. In ten minutes she stole from the room and met Trudchen in front of the cottage.
“What is the matter with Adelheid?” she asked. “What shall I take with me?”
“She has fever, Fräulein, and she coughs a great deal. She caught cold from Friedrich, and my man sent her on an errand in the forest yesterday, and she lost the path and was late coming home. She was shivering, poor little one, but now she is too warm——”
“Wait here a minute,” said Lucy.