“Not now—no. Her weakness is due to mental strain and—well, to a lack of nutrition as much as anything.”
“Lack of nutrition? You mean she hasn't had enough to eat!”
“Yes. Of course I can't be certain, but that would be my opinion if I were forced to give one. At all events, she should be taken from here as soon as possible.”
I reflected. “A hospital?” I suggested.
“She might be taken to a hospital, of course. But she is scarcely ill enough for that. A good, comfortable home would be better. Somewhere where she might have quiet and rest. If she had relatives I should strongly urge her going to them. She should not be left to herself; I would not be responsible for the consequences if she were. A person in her condition might—might be capable of any rash act.”
This was plain enough, but it did not make my course of action plainer to me.
“Is she well enough to be moved—now?” I asked.
“Yes. If she is not moved she is likely to be less well.”
I paid him for the visit; he gave me a prescription—“To quiet the nerves,” he explained—and went away. I was to send for him whenever his services were needed. Then I entered the room.
Hephzy and Mrs. Briggs were sitting beside the bed. The face upon the pillow looked whiter and more pitiful than ever. The dark eyes were closed.