Mrs. Wayt was upon the porch. Her first words gave one of the bearers his cue.
“Oh, Mr. Gilchrist! This is dreadful! And he seemed so well at dinner time! The heat often affects him seriously. He had a sunstroke some years ago, and every summer he feels the effects of it. Lay him down here and rest before taking him upstairs. There. Thank you.”
While she undid and removed the clerical cravat and collar from his throat, March straightened his spine and looked around for Hetty. The house was as still as a grave. The front door was closed; the rooms on both sides of the hall were dark and silent. It was Thursday night, the universal “evening out” for Fairhill servants. March recollected it in the mechanical way in which one thinks of trifles at important junctures. He was glad—mechanically—that Mary Ann was not there to carry the tale of Mr. Wayt’s fainting fit, or semi-sunstroke, or whatever name his wife chose to put to it, to Mrs. Gilchrist. He was beginning to ask himself what he should say at home of what he had done with himself between nine and ten o’clock that evening.
The transportation up to the second story was slow and difficult. Mrs. Wayt supported her husband’s head, and, like a flash, recurred to March Hester’s sneer of the task laid upon “his wife, his wife’s sister, and the family factotum.” It must have been barely accomplished on the July night when he and May brought Hester home, and Hetty ran down out of breath, her hair disheveled and eyes scared! That her hands should be fouled by such a burden!
His face was set whitely, as, having deposited the load upon the bed, he accosted the wife:
“Would you like to have a physician?”
His tone was hard and constrained. She did not look up.
“You are very good but it is not necessary—thank you! I have seen him as ill before from the same cause and know what to do for him. And he is morbidly sensitive with regard to these attacks. He thinks it would injure him in his profession if the impression were to get abroad that his health is unsound or his constitution breaking up. I shall not even dare tell him that you have seen him to-night.”
She was putting extraordinary force upon herself, but she could not meet his eye.
“I cannot thank you just now as I would, Mr. Gilchrist. I am all unnerved, and although I know this seizure is not dangerous, it is a terrible ordeal to me to witness it. May I ask that you will not mention it, even to Judge and Mrs. Gilchrist? My husband would be mortified and distressed beyond measure were his illness the subject of even friendly remark.”