For once in her life Martha hurried.
Eunice Youngs met her at the kitchen-porch, showing a scared face.
"Oh, Mrs. Slawson," she drawled, with something in her voice and manner almost resembling animation, "oh, Mrs. Slawson, if ever I was glad to see anybody!"
"What's the trouble?"
"I d'know. When I went up to Miss Katherine's room about an hour ago, with Madam's coffee, I knocked an' knocked, an' no one answered. Then, I went to Madam's door, an' knocked an' knocked, an' no one answered. But the sitting-room door was open, so I peeked in, an'——"
"Well?" Martha's impatience spurred her on.
"Madam was sitting up in her chair, just like always, only she—looked like she was dead."
Before the words were fairly out, Martha had brushed Eunice aside, and was halfway up the back stairs. In the moment it took her to cover the distance between them and the sitting-room, her thoughts ran riot, but one sentence kept repeating itself unconsciously:
"Poor Miss Katherine! Poor Miss Katherine!"
Automatically she tapped on the sitting-room door, pushed it open, and entered.