"Then drive," she said shortly. "Drive as fast as you can."
At first, as they drove along, Helena plied Sam with questions—and then lapsed into silence. The man did not know very much—only that Mrs. Thornton had been taken suddenly ill, and that the nurse had sent him on the errand that had brought him to the cottage. A turmoil of conflicting emotions filled Helena's mind, obtruding upon her anxiety, for she had grown to care a great deal for Naida Thornton—this was a complication that Doc Madison must know about—Thornton had left that morning and was already far away—the newspaper men, or some of them at least, were still in the town—and there were so many things else—they all came crowding upon her, as she clung to her seat in the jolting wagon. But Doc must know—that rose a paramount consideration. It seemed an age, an eternity before they stopped finally at the station.
She sprang out and turned to Sam.
"Sam," she directed hurriedly, "you go back
to the Congress Hotel and get Mr. Madison. Mr. Madison is a friend of Mr. Thornton's, you know. Go about it quietly—you needn't let any one know what you came for. You can tell Mr. Madison what the trouble is—and tell him that I sent you, and that I am here. Do you understand?"
"Yas'um, mum," said Sam impressively. "Just you done leab all that to me, missy."
Across the track on the siding, the private car was dimly lighted, the window curtains down. Helena crossed the track and mounted the steps. As she reached the platform, Miss Harvey, who had evidently heard her coming, opened the door and drew her quietly inside.
A glance at the nurse's face brought a sudden chill to Helena's heart. Miss Harvey, capable, controlled, grave, smiled at her a little sadly.
"I sent for you, Miss Vail," she said in a low tone, "because Mrs. Thornton has been asking for you incessantly ever since the attack came on three-quarters of an hour ago."
"You mean," said Helena, "that—that there is—"