“Very badly?”
“Yes—yes—yes!”
Greta remained sitting where she was, shivering violently, as a little animal shivers when it scents danger. At last she rose.
“I am going,” she said in a despairing voice. At the doorway she turned.
“If Miss Naylor shall ask me where you are, Chris, I shall be telling her a story.”
Christian started.
“I forgot that—O Greta, I am sorry! I will go instead.”
Greta took another step—a quick one.
“I shall die if I stay here alone,” she said; “I can tell her that you are in bed; you must go to bed here, Chris, so it shall be true after all.”
Christian threw her arms about her.