“Not much as yet, but I can see it. I will be.”
Miss Winchester gave a little start. “See it? see what?” fearing lest the patient was again off at a tangent after more disasters. But Mrs. Cultus, having obtained a mental grip upon herself, would not let go, even if she still felt weak physically.
“Tell me what you see,” said Miss Winchester gently, taking her by the hand, and continuing to wave the fan she held.
“Oh, Frank! what a terrible thing it would be to be caught in such a predicament, and unprepared!”
“How, my dear?”
“I’ve been imagining all sorts of things—these Indian beds are not the best sort for me, I fear; I’ve been imagining—nonsense, of course, for us—but just think how awful it would be to lose one’s means of support! be forced to work for a living! and then not be able to succeed; I mean when the real thing does happen.”
“The world is full of cases like that.”
“Yes, I knew that before; but now I have actually felt it, just as if it were true in our own case. I was sort of luny all the time, even when my head floated off like a balloon. I thought it was serious, and I suffered as much as if it had really been true. Why, poor Adele—it would have killed me to see her in such hard circumstances. Adele would have—let me think—I’m wrong! Adele would not have——”
A strange expression came over her countenance, as if something ineffably joyous and precious was just revealed to her. She closed her eyes, and evidently was seeing the image of her daughter in a new light.
Miss Winchester kept on fanning her gently, hoping she would soon fall asleep.