“Yes—that is—yes, of course! Wake him up, Ferdinand.”
The door on the other side of Eunice’s room opened, and Aunt Abby put her head in.
“What’s the matter? What’s Ferdinand doing in your room, Eunice? Are you ill?”
“No, Aunt Abby—” but Eunice got no further. She sank back on her bed, and buried her face in the pillows.
“Get up, Mr. Embury—it’s late,” Ferdinand was saying, and then he lightly touched the arm of his master.
“He—he—oh, Miss Eunice! Oh, my God! Why, ma’am—he—he looks to be dead!”
With a shriek, Eunice raised her head a moment and then flung it down on the pillows again, crying, “I don’t believe it! You don’t know what you’re saying! It can’t be so!”
“Yes, I do, ma’am—he’s—why, he’s cold!”
“Let me come in!” ordered Aunt Abby, as Ferdinand tried to bar her entrance; “let me see, I tell you! Yes, he is dead! Oh, Eunice—now, Ferdinand, don’t lose your head! Go quickly and telephone for Doctor—what’s his name? I mean the one in this building—on the ground floor—Harper—that’s it—Doctor Harper. Go, man, go!”
Ferdinand went, and Aunt Abby leaned over the silent figure.