“I am getting frightened at her state,” she whispered; “surely we ought to send over for the doctor.”
“No, my dear,” said Woodham sadly. “Let her rest. It will be better than anything the doctor can do.”
“Woodham,” whispered Mary again, “it seems horrible to say, but I feel as if I could poison that man and set her free.”
Sarah Woodham’s jaw dropped, and as she sank back, Mary could see that her eyes were wide and staring.
“Sarah, you foolish woman, don’t take what I say like that.”
The woman struggled to recover herself, and she gasped—
“It was so horrible, Miss Mary; for thoughts like that came to me.”
“But, Sarah,” whispered Mary, “I did not think of it before; when she wakes, if she is wild like that again, there is some of poor uncle’s medicine in the library—there is a bottle of that chloral that had not been opened. Would it be wise to give her some of it to make her calm?”
“Miss Mary!” gasped Woodham, as she pressed her hand to her side. “Hush! Don’t! You—oh, pray, pray, don’t talk of that!”
Mary looked at her wonderingly, the woman’s excitement seemed so wild and strange.