"Oh, she is dead!" whispered Tavia, who had succeeded in reaching the chair.
"Open the windows!" commanded Viola. "Call Dr. Reed, quick! He is in the next car!"
It seemed an eternity—but in reality was only a few minutes—before the doctor reached the spot. Dorothy could see that Mrs. Green had not fainted—her eyes were moving. But poor Viola! How could they ever have thought ill of her when this was her sorrow: this her sad burden!
Dorothy Dale resolved in her heart, at that moment, that never a care nor a sorrow should come to Viola Green if she could protect her from it. She would be her champion at school, she would try to share this secret sorrow with her; she would do anything in her power to make life brighter for a girl who had this awful grief to bear.
"It's her mind," Dorothy had heard someone whisper. Then the doctor had the porters carry the sick woman to a private compartment, and with her Viola remained, until the train reached Hanover. There Dr. Reed left the train and with him went Mrs. Green in care of an attendant. When they were gone Viola returned to her companions weeping and almost sick herself.
"The doctor would not let me go back home," she sighed, "and as soon as mother was conscious she insisted on me going on to school. Dr. Reed can always manage her so well, and if I were with him perhaps mother would fret more. But I did think she would get over those awful spells—" and the girl burst into fresh tears.
"Viola, dear," said Dorothy soothingly. "Try to be brave. Perhaps the trip may benefit her in the end."
"Oh, don't try to be kind to me," wailed the unhappy girl. "I can't stand it! I hate everybody and everything in this world only my darling little sweet mother! And I cannot have her! She can never go with me to her own country now, and we had planned it all! Oh, mother darling! Why did you inherit that awful sickness! Why can't we cure you!" and so the sad daughter wailed and wept, while her companions looked on helplessly.
"But you will let me be you friend," pleaded Dorothy. "Try to think it will all come right some day—every sorrow must unfold some blessing—"
"My friend!" and Viola looked with that same sharp glance that her mother had shown—that queer glare at Dorothy. "Dorothy Dale, you do not know what you are talking about!"