Scarcely bidding her mother good by, she went gayly down the stairs, little imagining what her return would be.
The clock was just striking twelve when, in turning the corner of the street, the house she called home came into view. At this hour it was usually dark. Now the hall and her mother's room were brilliantly lighted. Just at this moment a carriage dashed up to the door.
"What does it mean?" she cried, in a startled voice, trying to pull her hand from her companion's arm.
"When can I see you again?"
The insinuating tone was lost on her, for with a sudden fear she had released herself and flown away. Bounding up the stairs, she stopped one instant to gaze into the lighted room. On her mother's lap lay Geenie, struggling for breath. Before them stood the doctor, with a spoonful of medicine in his hand,—just brought by his servant,—which he was vainly trying to force down the child's throat. One of the servants was bringing through another door a foot-tub filled with boiling water, while another was pulling the blanket from the bed.
All this the mother took in at one glance, then sprang forward with a loud shriek and threw herself on her knees before her boy.
"Mamma, help Geenie! Make the bad man go away! Geenie can't breathe!"
"It's the croup," gasped her mother, in reply to her agonized gaze into the child's face, darkened and convulsed with this struggle for breath.
"It is a case of life and death," added the physician, in a solemn voice. "If you love your brother, persuade him to take this medicine."
"My brother! He's my boy, my own, my precious child!"