Smarting, I rushed away from them, and angrily out-of-doors again. I was exceedingly angry; but this gave me no more, perhaps (though I thought, a little), than the usual discomfort.
From the hospital I hurried to the consultation; where I was now well over-due. I found the attendant physician about to leave; in fact, I met him on the stairs, up which I had run rapidly, as soon as my ring was answered in the familiar house. This man was followed by old Madam Decker's daughter, who was weeping.
"She died at six o'clock, Dr. Halt," Miss Decker sobbed, "at six precisely, for I noticed. We didn't expect it so soon."
"Nor I, either," said Halt, soothingly, "I did not anticipate"—
"Dead!" I cried. "Mrs. Decker dead? I did my best—I have met with an accident. I could not come till now. Did she ask for me?"
"She talked of Dr. Thorne," sobbed Miss Decker, "as long as she could talk of anything. She wondered if he knew, she said, how sick she was."
I hastened to explain, to protest, to sympathize, to say the idle words with which we waste ourselves and weary mourners, at such times; but the daughter paid little attention to me. She was evidently hurt at my delay; and, thinking it best to spare her my presence, I bowed my head in silence, and left the house.
Halt followed me, and we stood together for a moment outside, where his carriage and driver awaited him.
"Was she conscious to the end?" I asked.
"Yes," he murmured. "Yes, yes, yes. It is a pity. I'm sorry for that girl."