The mystery, it seemed, was already crying on the threshold. That was quite as he would have had it.
“Come,” he said; “I am here to help. Tell me what is wrong, child.”
“A telegram come for her,” said the girl, gasping and wiping her eyes on her apron; “and she’d no sooner read it but what she gave a ’eave and fell down flat on the sofy; and there’s she’s laid ever since.”
“You are speaking of?” said Gilead.
“My mistress,” answered the girl.
“How long ago was that?”
“More’n half an hour. O, dear! and I’m all alone with her; and I can’t get her to speak or move; and I doesn’t know what to do.”
“Hadn’t you better run for the doctor?”
The girl hesitated.
“Who’s to look after her while I’m gone?”