"I have been here all night," I answered.
She looked at me with her piercing black eyes, which always seem to go into the very recesses of one's thoughts, and then, in a manner rather less aggressive, remarked,—
"I've come to speak to this Brownrig girl. You know well enough why."
"I'm afraid you can't see her," I answered, ignoring the latter part of her words. "She is not so well this morning, and Dr. Wentworth told us to keep her as quiet as possible."
Mrs. Webbe leaned forward with an expression on her face which made me look away.
"Is she going to die?" she demanded.
I turned away, and began to close the door. I could not bear her manner. She has too much cause to hate the girl, but just then, with the poor thing sick to the very point of death, I could never have felt as she looked.
"I'm sure I hope not," I returned. "We expect to have a professional nurse to-morrow, and then things will go better."
"A professional nurse?"
"Yes; we have sent to Boston for one."