"Ice!" he gasped; "it's in cellar."
I snatched up the candle that Reuben had left burning on the hall-table, and went for it. The place was strange, and I was not as quick and deft as many others would have been, and so was absent some moments.
Great was my surprise and consternation when I returned, for Miss
Warren stood beside Mr. Yocomb, holding his head.
"Why are you here?" I asked, and my tone and manner betokened deep trouble.
"I'm better," she said, quietly and firmly.
"Miss Warren," I remonstrated, "I won't answer for the consequences if you don't go back to the parlor and remain there till the doctor comes. I know what I'm about."
"You don't look as if master of the situation. You are haggard—you seem half desperate—"
"I'm anxious about you, and if—"
"Mr. Morton, you are far more anxious about others. I've had time to think. A swoon is not such a desperate affair. You guessed rightly—a thunderstorm prostrates me, but as it passes I am myself again."
After aiding Mr. Yocomb to recline feebly on the lounge, she came to the table where I was breaking the ice, and said, in a low tone: