“I understand! I understand!” muttered Mr. Force to himself.
“But she waved the girls back in the most peremptory manner, and went alone to her room. The children came back to me, and gazed in my face for an explanation. I could give them none. They once more started to follow their mother. But I called them back, and told them to be patient. Then the condition of little Rosemary Hedge claimed attention. She was sobbing violently on the sofa. I told my nieces to respect their mother’s wish to be left alone; that she was probably overcome by the ill news of one whom she had known from his boyhood, and that she would best recover her composure in solitude.”
“I understand! I understand!” again murmured the poor squire to himself.
“I went to Rosemary, and sought to soothe her. While I was so engaged little Elva slipped away and went up to her mother’s room, and instantly came shrieking back, telling us, in wild and incoherent exclamations, that her mother lay unconscious on the floor of her chamber.
“Gracious! Gracious heavens!” groaned the squire.
“We hurried to her assistance, all of us, even Rosemary, who forgot her own grief at this crisis. We found her on the carpet in a deep swoon.
“She lay face downward, and dressed as if for a journey. By her side lay a traveling bag, which seemed to have dropped from her hand as she fell.”
“I understand! Oh, I understand too well! too well!” muttered the squire to himself.
“We got her on the bed, and sent for a doctor. There was one in the house, who heard of the event, and came first. Then the doctor whom we had sent for arrived. They are with her now. One of them procured a professional nurse. And they are all three agreed upon one point—that no one but the doctor or nurse be allowed to enter the room.”
“But I must go to her door. I will not make the least noise; but I must go to the door and see one of the physicians,” said Mr. Force, rising.