"Eric," exclaimed Cecilia in dismay. "I cannot see him--not now!"
"You must talk with him," whispered Oscar softly, but dictatorially. "Is your behavior to strike him as yet more peculiar? Only for a few minutes."
"I cannot! Tell him, I am sick, or asleep, or anything you choose!"
She wanted to spring to her feet, but her brother again drew her down upon her seat, while he called out in a cheerful tone:
"Just come in, Eric! Here am I--being indulged with a half-hour's audience, by this gracious lady!"
"So I heard from Nannon!" said Eric, in a reproachful tone, as he entered, after passing through the parlor. "Is your door to remain locked to me, when it is open to Oscar? Dear me, how pale and disturbed you look! What happened on that unfortunate expedition? I implore you, speak!"
He had seized her hand and looked into her face, with deep solicitude. Her little hand trembled in his, but there followed no answer.
"You ought rather to scold her, although I have already done so sufficiently myself," said Wildenrod. "Do you know where she has been this morning? Why, on top of the Whitestone!"
"Lord of heaven!" cried Eric, horrified. "Is that true, Cecile?"
"Literally true! Of course she was dizzy on the way back, came down half dead and is now sick from overexertion and the agony endured. She was ashamed to confess to you and the doctor, but you had to learn about it."