“Go away. Please, go away. I can’t tell you. Oh, where is Vita? Vita come!” begged a voice, while Nora tried in vain to soothe her.
“Let me there!” ordered Miss Beckwith. “The poor little thing!” she continued. “She evidently has had a fit of hysteria. Just see her gasp! Keep quiet, dear,” she said gently. “You are all right now. We will take care of you. There! Stop sobbing. Don’t you know the girls?”
“She knows me, don’t you, Lucia?” asked Nora, anxiously. “Oh, I am so glad we found her. She might have died.”
“Don’t let us waste time in talking. Here girls. Use your first aid, now. We must carry her down stairs to the air,” ordered Miss Beckwith.
They carried her down carefully and laid her on a couch by the window.
“Where is this?” the girl murmured. Then she looked into Nora’s face and something of the terror left her own. “Angel,” she said simply, blinking uncertainly.
“You know this little girl, don’t you, Lucia?” pressed Becky now, anxious to arouse her.
“Yes,” she said.
Nora cast a look of appeal at the director. She wanted to speak to the sick girl. Becky motioned she might do so.
“Lucia,” began Nora, very gently, “where did—you—come from?”