She did not answer. It was all William King could do not to stroke the soft hair of the bent head, and say "Don't cry," as if to a child. But when she lifted her face, her eyes were quite dry; there was a flashing look in them that broke into breathless, wavering laughter.
"I beg your pardon; it is just the—the shock, you know."
"Yes," the doctor said; "I know." He could not help covering with his big, warm palm, the shaking hands that were pulling and twisting the telegram. "There, there! My dear Mrs. Richie—where is that bromide I gave you for David? I want you to take some."
"Oh, it isn't necessary; truly it isn't. I am not unhappy. I am just—"
"You are startled; and you must have a good night's sleep. Is the bromide in David's room? I'll get it."
When he came back with the medicine, she took it hurriedly—anything to get rid of him! "Is there anything I can do?" he said. "Do you want to send any reply? I can take it down to-night and send it the first thing in the morning."
"Oh!" she exclaimed, "what am I thinking of! Of course, a message—I must send a message! Will you take it? Oh, I am afraid I trouble you very much, but you are so kind. I'll go and write it."
She tried to rise, but she was still so shaken that involuntarily he put out his hand to help her. At the old mahogany desk between the windows she hunted about for paper and pencil, and when she found them, wrote for a moment, rapidly; then paused, and tore the paper up. William glanced at her side-wise; she was pressing the pencil against her lips, her left hand opening and closing with agitation. The doctor shook his head. "That won't do," he said to himself. Again she wrote; again hesitated; again tore the sheet of paper across. It seemed to him that he waited a long time. But when she brought him the message, it was very short; only: "F. is dead," and her initials. It was addressed to Mr. Lloyd Pryor.
"I am very much obliged to you," she said; her color was coming back, and she had evidently got control of herself. But she hardly noticed William's farewell, and he had not reached the front door before she began to pace up and down the parlor.
"Well!" said Martha, "was it a brother, or sister? How did she take it? I suppose you think she found it easier because you broke it to her. I must say, William, flatly and frankly, that I think a nice woman would rather have a woman near her when she is in trouble, than a man. I was very tired, but I was perfectly willing to remain. Well! what relation was this F.? A cousin?"