“I will find her myself,” said Barbara; “don’t come up-stairs.”
The girl ran quickly up the richly carpeted stairs, and a moment later knocked at a door. A voice said “Come in,” and she entered.
Mrs. Pelham started up when Barbara appeared.
“Oh, I am glad to see you,” she exclaimed. “Come over here, sit down near me. Have you heard the—the news?”
The widow’s lips trembled, and her eyelids were red from weeping.
“The news about Piers?” said Barbara. “Oh, I don’t believe for a moment it is so bad. Dear Mrs. Pelham, don’t give way; try, try to bear up.” For the poor woman had suddenly flung her arms round Barbara’s neck and burst into a passion of convulsive weeping.
“He is dying!” she exclaimed. “He has such dreadful fainting fits. The doctors say that there is no hope. There were two of them here this morning. They say that in all probability little Piers will be dead before many days are over. Oh, Barbara, I am glad you have called. It seems a queer, wild thing to say, but I do believe you can save him.”
“I! What do you mean?” said Barbara, coloring vividly.
“He has been often asking for you and Dick—he loves you both so much. Do you know, Barbara, I have taken a most terrible dislike to that red-haired nurse?”
“Is she a trained nurse?”