Neil, who for the last ten minutes or so had been pacing back and forth in the meadow, out of earshot and where Lewis did not see him, had started for the porch the minute Lewis moved back his chair. “All done?” he asked, coming up onto the porch and looking at Lewis for one swift, keen instant. Lewis nodded. “Yes and I want to see Petra. Is she still sleeping?”
“Oh, no. Janet kept her promise and woke her when you came. She’s in the kitchen, starting the supper. She and Janet—Teresa too—want you to stay for supper with us. Petra’s getting it started early on purpose, so you will. Janet’s gone across lots for an extra quart of milk just on the chance. You won’t disappoint us, Doctor?”
“First let me use the telephone. If McKinstry can come out this evening, I’ll want to wait and see him. That will make supping here very convenient. Don’t talk to this girl too much now. She should rest, Neil.”
Neil laughed. “I won’t talk at all then. One doesn’t, much, with Teresa. She’s the conversationalist of our Mary’s Field crowd. Have you told her to keep quiet, not talk?”
Lewis shook his head, smiling down into Teresa’s eyes. “No,” he said. “I haven’t told her anything. Given no orders. Teresa is wiser than all of us put together. She’s her own best physician.”
But in the end, Lewis merely stood thoughtful by the telephone in the passage for an instant, and turned away, toward the kitchen. McKinstry, immediately Lewis asked it, if he could be reached at all by telephone to-day, would be at Lewis’ disposal; and if he were out of town or not on the telephone, there would be some one else available who was good, too. But there was no hurry. Getting a trained nurse out to Mary’s Field was of far more immediate importance than getting a specialist. Miss Frazier would help Lewis with that, when she returned with the milk. Lewis himself couldn’t remember the name of that woman who had taken such excellent care of the little Nolan girl last month. But Miss Frazier, Janet, would remember. She would remember, too, how one could reach her. The woman should come to-night, of course. Sleep here. Or failing her, some one else whom Janet would recommend. He could wait for Janet for all that.
Lewis went on down the passage to the kitchen door. It was the kitchen, supposedly, since Neil had said that Petra was here, and here she was; but for Lewis it was no special place at all. It was merely Petra. He had come to where Petra was, at last. Come up with her. He felt as if he had been running a long time through dark eternities to this overtaking of his beloved. Between Petra and himself there now only remained a little space of thin, late afternoon light. Blessed light! He saw her through it as through thin glass—a pace away.
She was standing close up against an open window. Her back to it. She was looking at Lewis through the glass-thin radiant atmosphere. Then Lewis heard Teresa say, “Janet was careful not to disturb the chessmen, Neil. The board’s on the dining-room table. Shall we finish the game?”
Neil said, “Sure, in a minute. Let me have a cigarette first, though, and just stay by you. You lie quiet. Shut your eyes, dear.”
Petra was facing Lewis, yes; but she was not seeing him. She was stone blind with tears. She had been here in the open window all the time. The porch came within a few feet of it. It must, since those voices—Neil’s and Teresa’s—sounded almost as if they were in the very room. And yet, they were speaking softly. Every bit as softly as Lewis and Teresa had been speaking. Petra had heard every word Lewis and Teresa had said, then. She knew—she knew—why, the child knew that Teresa was going to die. That was as far as Lewis’ thought went. Brutally, like that, merely overhearing, she had learned it. With no warning. Alone, here in the kitchen,—with supper to get.