She patted his hand as if soothing a child, and, turning, mounted the stairway. How weak and old he seemed at the moment!
Fordyce was at work. She could hear his typewriter click laboriously (he was his own typist as yet), and she stood for a moment in the hall with hand pressed hard upon her bosom, the full significance of this last visit overwhelming her. Here was the end of her own happiness—the beginning of long-drawn misery and heart-hunger. Her blood beat tumultuously in her throat, and each throb was a physical, smothering pain.
At last she grew calmer and knocked. Ben opened the door, and his face shone with joy. "You're late!" he reproachfully exclaimed; then, as he peered into the hall, he asked, "Where's the Captain?"
She was very white as she answered: "He can't come up this morning. He ain't able."
"Is he worse?" His face expressed swift concern.
"Yes—Dr. Steele came last night and examined him—"
"What did he say?"
"He told us to 'get out' of here—quick."
He drew her in and shut the door. "Tell me all about it. What is the matter?"
"It's his heart. He can't stand it here. We've got to get away—down the slope—to-morrow."