“Something is wrong!” said Miss Wynward, as she hastily left the room.
The Baroness said nothing, until Miss Wynward’s voice was heard calling out over the banisters,
“Baron! will you come here, please, at once!”
Then she said,
“Gustave! ’elp me up,” and steadying herself by means of her stick, she proceeded to the upper story, accompanied by her husband and Harriet Brandt. They were met on the landing by Miss Wynward, who addressed herself exclusively to the Baron.
“Will you send for a doctor at once,” she said eagerly, “Bobby is very ill, very ill indeed!”
“What is the matter?” enquired the stolid German.
“It’s all rubbish!” exclaimed Madame Gobelli, forcing her way past the ex-governess, “’ow can ’e be ill when ’e was running about all the morning? ’Ere, Bobby,” she continued, addressing the prostrate figure of her son which was lying face downward on the bed, “get up at once and don’t let’s ’ave any of your nonsense, or I’ll give you such a taste of my stick as you’ve never ’ad before! Get up, I say, at once now!”
She had laid hold of her son’s arm, and was about to drag him down upon the floor, when Miss Wynward interposed with a face of horror.
“Leave him alone!” she cried, indignantly. “Woman! cannot you see what is the matter? Your son has left you! He is dead!”