He stooped a little and took her quivering hand, holding it in both his own so that his fingers pressed upon her pulse.
"The mater thought you would like to speak to me," he said.
She looked up at him with eyes of piteous entreaty. She was long past any thought of expediency so far as he was concerned. It seemed only natural in her trouble to turn to him for help. Had he not helped her before? Besides, she knew that he understood things that she could not utter.
"Oh, Nap," she said admitting him unconsciously in her extremity to an intimacy she would never have dreamed of according him in any less urgent circumstances, "I am greatly troubled about my husband. You said he would come to me, but—he hasn't come!"
"I know he hasn't," Nap said. He spoke quietly, but she was aware of a certain grimness in his speech. "I shouldn't worry if I were you. It won't help you any. Is there anyone else you would like sent for?"
"I have—no one else," she said, her voice quivering beyond her control.
"How can I lie here and not worry?"
"Lord bless the child!" said Mrs. Errol vigorously. "What is there to worry about, anyway?"
But Nap was silent. His fingers were still closed firmly upon her wrist.
"Mrs. Errol is very good," Anne said earnestly. "You mustn't think me ungrateful or unappreciative. But I cannot go on like this. I cannot!"
"I am afraid you have no choice," Nap said.