Salome went to her own room, changed her dress, laid gloves, hat, and shawl in readiness upon the bed, and threw herself down on the lounge to rest, and if possible to sleep.
When Dr. Grey reached “Solitude,” he found Robert Maclean pacing the paved walk that led to the gate.
“Oh, doctor! Have you come at last? It seems to me I could have crawled twice to your house, since Jerry came back.”
“What change has taken place in your mother’s condition? She was better than usual, when I saw her last.”
“We thought she was getting along very well, till all of a sudden she became speechless. Go in, sir; don’t stop to knock.”
Mrs. Gerome sat at the bedside, mechanically chafing one of the hands that lay on the coverlet, and the face of the dying woman was not more ghastly than the one which bent over her. As Dr. Grey approached, the mistress of the house rose, and put out her hands towards him, with a wistful, pleading, childish manner, that touched him inexpressibly.
“Do not let her die.”
He leaned over the pillow, and put his finger on the scarcely palpable pulse.
“Elsie, tell me where or how you suffer.”