"Yes."
"Can you bring him here?"
"Yes,—as soon as he can get here from Des Moines."
"You'd better do it. She has worn herself down nearly to the point of prostration. We think we can break this fever without serious consequences, but get the young man as soon as possible. She can not relax and rest, until she gets relief."
So he went down-stairs and over the telephone dictated a short message to Jerry. "Please come,—Prudence."
When he entered the front bedroom again, Prudence was muttering unintelligible words under her breath. He kneeled down beside the bed, and put his arms around her. She clung to him with sudden passion.
"Jerry! Jerry!" she cried. Her father caressed and petted her, but did not speak.
"Oh, I can't," she cried again. "I can't, Jerry, I can't!" Again her voice fell to low mumbling. "Yes, go. Go at once. I promised, you know.—They haven't any mother.—I promised. Jerry! Jerry!" Her voice rang out so wildly that Connie, down in the dungeon, heard her cries and sobbed anew, relieved that Prudence was living, frightened at the wildness of her voice. "Oh, I do want you—more than anybody. Don't go!—Oh, yes, go at once. I promised.—Father needs me." And then a piercing shriek, "He is falling! Connie, drop that rope!" She struggled up in the bed, and gazed wildly about her,—then, panting, she fell back on the pillows.
But Mr. Starr smiled gently to himself. So that was the answer! Oh, foolish little Prudence! Oh, sweet-hearted little martyr girl!
Hours later the fever broke, and Prudence drifted into a deep sleep. Then the doctors went downstairs with Mr. Starr, talking in quiet ordinary tones.