“Marcia is an excellent girl; you have never said a truer word, Mrs Aldworth,” remarked the doctor.
“It was very disagreeable—that dream,” continued the invalid, her thoughts drifting into another quarter. “I thought—I thought I was climbing up and up, and it was very cold as I climbed, and I thought I was amongst the ice, and the great snows, and Molly was there, but a long way down, and I was falling, and Molly would not come to help me. Then it was Nesta, and she would not help me either, Nesta only laughed, and said something about Flossie—Flossie Griffiths. Marcia, have you seen Flossie Griffiths? You know I don’t like her much, do you?”
“I have not seen her, dear. Don’t talk too much. It weakens you.”
“But I’m not really ill, am I?”
“Oh, no, Mrs Aldworth,” said the doctor. “You have just had an attack of weakness, but you are better; it is passing off now, and you have a grand pulse. I wish I had as good a one.”
He smiled at her in his cheery way, and by-and-by he went out of the room. Marcia followed him.
“Some one must sit up with her all night,” said the doctor, “and I will stay in the house.”
“Oh, doctor,” said Marcia, “is it as bad as all that?”
“It is so bad that if she has another attack we cannot possibly pull her through. If she survives until the morning, I will call in Dr Benson, the first authority in Newcastle. The thing is to prevent a recurrence of the attack. The longer it is stared off the greater probability there is that there will be no repetition.”
“I will sit up with her, of course,” said Marcia. “She would rather have me than any hired nurse.”