"He's takin' on so, please come up, ma'am," came Sarah's entreating voice from over the banisters in the upper hall.
"Oh, Lloyd, I must!" She turned; but he, springing up, caught her wrist and pulled her to him.
"Don't be a fool."
"Let me go! Oh, how cruel you are!" She tried to wrench her wrist from his grasp. "I hate you!"
"Hate me, do you?" He laughed, and catching her in his arms, kissed her again and again. Then he put his hands in his pockets and stepped back, leaving her free. "Will you go?"
She stood, vibrating between surprised affection and anguished longing for the child. "Lloyd!" she said faintly; she put her hands over her face, and came towards him slowly, shivering a little, and murmuring "Lloyd!" Then, with a sudden gasp, she turned and fled up-stairs. "David—I am coming—"
Lloyd Pryor stood dumfounded; in his astonishment he almost laughed.
But at that instant he heard the crunch of wheels drawing up at the
gate. "The stage!" he said to himself, and called out, angrily,
"Helena!"
But it was not the stage; it was William King's shabby old buggy standing in the shadow of the big locust by the roadside; and there was the doctor himself coming up the path.
Lloyd Pryor swore under his breath.
The front door was open to the hot June afternoon, and unannounced the doctor walked into the hall. As he took off his hat, he glanced into the parlor, and for a second of consternation stood staring with angry eyes. Then he nodded stiffly. "I will be obliged if you will let Mrs. Richie know I am here."