But Biddy did not stir; she only gave one miserable despairing glance at the clock. Three minutes to ten! It would be crossing the Kennet just as she got there.
“Biddy, Biddy,” cried her mistress, “why don’t you go?”
Poor Biddy! She looked at Dulcie struggling for breath in her mother’s arms, and fighting the air with her helpless little hands. It was pitiful, but she could not move; she only gazed horror-stricken, and as if turned into stone.
“Oh!” exclaimed Mrs Roy in tones of anguish, “why doesn’t Richard come home? What shall I do?”
Biddy’s heart was touched; she clasped her hands and exclaimed, almost unconsciously:
“Oh, mum, it’s the ghost! I’m dreadful feared of meeting it!”
The secret was out now, but Mrs Roy scarcely noticed it at all. If the room had been thronged with ghosts she would not have minded them just then—her whole heart was full of Dulcie.
“Send Mrs Shivers then,” she said, “and bring the hot water at once.”
Recovering the use of her limbs Biddy quickly had a hot bath ready; but, alas! She came back from the kitchen with the news that Mr and Mrs Shivers were both out, and had taken the lantern.
“Then, Biddy,” said her mistress looking up as she knelt by the bath, where the baby was now breathing more quietly, “there is only you. I can’t leave her, and if this attack comes on again I don’t know what to do. Most likely you’ll meet Mr Roy long before you get to the village. Send him on if you do, and come back yourself. Only go, for my sake!”