“I’m so cold—oh, so cold!” she moaned; and so she was. But, alas, there was no fire, no hot water, no anything! I was at my wits’ end; then I suddenly bethought me of Mrs. Mound. I knew she was at home, and ran across to the little private door. After a very short interval, and as soon as I had breathlessly explained my troubles, Mrs. Mound (good, kind soul!) came over bearing a kettle of hot water, some mustard, and a lamp. She had despatched her eldest son to fetch Dr. Skuce without a moment’s delay.
“Your mother taken ill, and you all alone!” she said. “Dear, dear, dear! it’s terrible indeed! I’ll just fill a hot bottle and take it in, and have a look at her.”
Emma lay on her little bed, moaning and gasping in the grip of a great agony.
“You’ll be all right soon, ma’am. I’ll light a nice little fire, and get you a warm drink; and I have sent one of my boys for Skuce.”
She spoke to us both in the same cheerful and encouraging manner; but I heard her distinctly talking to her husband over the balustrades. What she said was evidently not for my ear, and nearly turned me to stone.
“It’s a bad business, Isaac. The poor little thing is past Skuce or any one. There will be a job for you here, before many days are over. I’ve seen pneumonia before—she has got it as bad as can be. Nothing can save her—I knew that, the moment I saw her face. Poor lady, she will be gone before the New Year!”
CHAPTER XII.
“INDIAN PAPERS, PLEASE COPY.”