“Mamma, I am not crying; you are crying, and saying things that are not true. It will not be too late; perhaps it is nothing but the cough. Louis says there is no danger.”
“Hush!” cried her mother, her whole figure trembling. “I know there is danger now, this minute. Oh, what can I do, what can I do?” With this cry all her strength seemed to give way; she sobbed and laughed with the hysteria of long ago; when Ruth strove to put her arms around her, she shook her off convulsively.
“Don’t touch me!” she breathed; “it is all your fault—he wants me—needs me—and, oh, look at me here! Why do you stand there like a ghost? Go away. No, come here—I want Dr. Kemp; now, at once, he said to have him; send for him, Ruth.”
“On Thursday morning,” she managed to answer.
“No, now—I must, must, must have him! You won’t go? Then I shall; move aside.”
Ruth, summoning all her strength, strove to hold her in her arms, all to no avail.
“Lie still,” she said sternly; “I shall go for Dr. Kemp.”
“You can’t; it is night and raining. Oh,” she continued, half deliriously, “I know I am acting strangely, and he will calm me. Ruth, I want to be calm; don’t you understand?”
The two maids, frightened by the noise, stood in the doorway. Both had their heads covered with shawls; both were suffering with heavy colds.
“Come in, girls. Stay here with my mother; I am going for the doctor.”