"That is the reason I need it, child; it helps me every time. There! Don't be alarmed, Marion. I know you think I am going to turn out a drunkard like a wicked woman in a Sunday school book, but there is no danger."
Gerty spoke good-naturedly, and Marion was rather glad she had ventured, especially as Gerty omitted her dose next day, and for two or three succeeding days. She was very fretful and harder than ever to get on with, but Marion bore all patiently, and tried her best to be agreeable. But the amendment did not last.
Gerty went over to Coaltown, and returned with a new set of medicines and directions from the doctor. The next day Gerty did not get up to tea. Marion went to her room to call her, and found her in a dead sleep, with flushed cheeks and parched lips. Marion bent over to kiss her awake, but drew back disgusted and horrified. There was no doubt of the facts of the case: Gerty was dead drunk. She had taken an overdose of the "medicine," and this was the result.
"Oh how glad I am that Asahel is not at home!" was Marion's first thought.
Her next was of how to screen Gerty. She carefully closed the blinds and the door, and came out just in time to meet Mary coming in.
"Mrs. Van Alstine is asleep," said she. "I don't think I will wake her. You can make some fresh tea for her when she wakes up."
"And indeed, then, I can't, miss," answered Mary. "I've to go home and see my sister with her sick children, and Jane has gone to bed with a headache too."
"Then I will," said Marion. "Never mind, Mary; you needn't wait. Go to see your sister, and I will take care of the table."
"And it's yourself that's the nice young lady," said Mary, who was as Irish as the cove of Cork, and very good-natured and obliging. "I wouldn't give you the trouble, only for the children. I'll have everything convanient and make up the fire before I go."
Marion had not much appetite for her lonely meal, but she drank her tea and put away the silver, and then went into Gerty's room again.