"Ill?" Theresa blinked in the gaslight.
"It's her heart."
"Her heart," Theresa repeated dully.
"Yes, be quick! I must go and see to her."
"Is it late?"
"Only nine o'clock."
"Nine!" Theresa slipped from the bed, felt for her slippers, and ran out, hatless, into the quiet streets. She was accompanied by the fear of death. She was a fast runner, and she made little noise in her thin shoes, but more silently ran that fear. She saw it with a mocking face and claw-like hands.
Peremptorily she summoned the doctor, appearing like a dishevelled sprite to the startled maid, and sped again down the garden path. The shrubs were dark and thick and they rustled as she passed.
She found the front-door open when she reached home, and her father hovering in the hall.
"My child! No hat!" He took her hands and she yielded them gladly, dropping her head to his shoulder.