The doctor was announced. Miss Arran sat by the bedside. There was a lamp on the table and he asked that it might be lighted, making a close survey of the patient.
“Was there any shock? Her vitality is at a very low ebb. When was the first unconscious spell?”
“I was out,” began Lilian, tremulously. “She insisted that I should go and seemed to want to be alone. I staid longer than I meant, and found her fallen to the floor—”
Mrs. Boyd raised to a partly sitting posture and looked up with feverish eagerness.
“I went to put something in the chiffonier—you will find it, Lilian, in a box and the key is—oh, what did I do with it?”
“Never mind, dear,” in a soft tone.
“But you must mind, and then I turned—it was my leg. It is heavy and I can’t raise it, but the ache is all gone.”
Dr. Kendricks turned down the blanket and examined the limb, nodding as if convinced.
“Oh,” she cried, “is it paralysis? Then it will not be long. My mother had two strokes a week apart, her mother never rallied from the first. I’m tired—worn out, and Lilian will be better off without me. She may find—I have written it all out—it’s there in the drawer—”
“Oh mother!” Lilian kissed her and put her back on the pillow where she gave a gasping sigh.