Miss Vesta, pale and trembling, tried to rise, but fell back on the sofa.
"James!" she said, faintly; "where is James Stedman?"
"Stay where you are, Vesta Blyth!" cried Mrs. Pryor. "I will send for Doctor Stedman; I will attend to everything. I am going to the house myself this instant. Here, Diploma! come and take care of your mistress! cologne, salts, whatever you have. I must fly!"
And as a hen flies, fluttering and cackling, so did Mrs. Pryor flutter and cackle, up the street, with Mrs. Weight, still breathless, pounding and gasping in her wake.
"For the land's sake, what is the matter?" asked Diploma Crotty, appearing in the parlor doorway with a flushed cheek and floury hands. "Miss Vesty, I give you to understand that I ain't goin' to be called from my bread by no—my dear heart alive! what has happened?"
Miss Vesta put her hand to her throat.
"My aunt, Diploma!" she whispered. "She—Mrs. Weight says there is crape on the door. I—I seem to have lost my strength. Oh, where is Doctor Stedman?"
A brown, horrified face looked for an instant over Diploma's shoulder; the face of Direxia Hawkes, who had come in search of something her mistress wanted, leaving the second maid in charge of her patient; it vanished, and another figure scurried up the street, breathless with fear and wonder.
"You lay down, Miss Vesty!" commanded Diploma. "Lay down this minute, that's a good girl. Whoever's dead, you ain't, and I don't want you should. There! Here comes Doctor Stedman this minute. I'll run and let him in. Oh, Doctor Stedman, it ain't true, is it?"
"Probably not," said Doctor Stedman. "What is it?"