“Hold your tongue, you doting idiot!” said the matron sternly. “You, Martha, tell me; has she been in this way before?”
“Often,” answered the first woman.
“But will never be again,” added the second one; “that is, she’ll never wake again but once—and mind, mistress, that won’t be for long!”
“Long or short,” said the matron, snappishly, “she won’t find me here when she does wake; take care, both of you, how you worry me again for nothing. It’s no part of my duty to see all the old women in the house die, and I won’t—that’s more. Mind that, you impudent old harridans. If you make a fool of me again, I’ll soon cure you, I warrant you!”
She was bouncing away, when a cry from the two women, who had turned towards the bed, caused her to look round. The patient had raised herself upright, and was stretching her arms towards them.
“Who’s that?” she cried, in a hollow voice.
“Hush, hush!” said one of the women, stooping over her. “Lie down, lie down!”
“I’ll never lie down again alive!” said the woman, struggling. “I will tell her! Come here! Nearer! Let me whisper in your ear.”
She clutched the matron by the arm, and forcing her into a chair by the bedside, was about to speak, when looking round, she caught sight of the two old women bending forward in the attitude of eager listeners.
“Turn them away,” said the woman, drowsily; “make haste! make haste!”