Baroness. Oh, my God!
Gran. When at last I could find my voice, I gave him his daughter's greeting, and asked if she might come and see him. A dark look came into his eyes, and his face flushed for a moment, as he gasped out: "May she be—." He could not finish the sentence. His crutches slipped from his grasp and he fell down, blood pouring from his mouth. The doctor rushed to him; and for a long time we thought he was dead.
Baroness. But he came round?
Gran. I waited an hour or two before I started back. Then the doctor told me that he had recovered consciousness, but that the end could certainly not be far off—perhaps not twenty-four hours.
Baroness. It must have been a shock to you.
Gran. It was.
Baroness. But what did he mean by: "May she be—"
Gran. That is what I have been wondering.
Baroness. He cannot do her any harm, can he?
Grad. He may give her the same reception that he gave me; if she goes.