The hope was not realized. The sick woman had a terrible night; her pulse was jumping like a frenzied thing, but her mind was clear. She clung frantically to Mary.
“I’m lost! save me! save me!” then she broke into convulsive sobbing, always begging to be helped. Mary shut the door carefully. It wouldn’t do for that “poor man” to hear.
Floyd tossed uneasily. He was sure there was something mentally wrong with Julie; he had heard of women getting “queer” after weaning a child. He had been too harsh with Martin. She had called him in her delirium; that meant nothing. Martin had wanted to marry her, but it was all long forgotten; she was his wife now, the mother of his child; it was foolish to make a fuss about a few moments of delirium. Julie would never know about it.
“What was that?”
He jumped out of bed and listened. He thought he heard somebody calling, “Martin! Martin!”
Julie’s door was shut; all was still. It was his own imagination; that cry was still in his ears. He went back to bed; he must get that idea out of his head; he wouldn’t let it become a mania with him. He would see Martin often, have him to dinner. It was low of him to keep on thinking evil of them both. The thought acted like a sedative; he slept.
He was up and dressed before seven. The night’s depression descended again over him like a black veil. There was a knock; Mary stood outside, pale, agitated.
“What is it? What is it?”
“Come and see.”
It was dark. He saw Julie’s figure lying across the bed; she was in a deep sleep. Mary opened a shutter gently. He stifled an exclamation. The long thick wavy hair flowing loosely over the pillow, over her heart, had turned white; she lay in an ocean of foam. What had happened to her in the night? What had been at work in her brain?—he had heard vaguely of a sudden shock turning the hair white. He gazed and gazed; it was as if an artist had dipped his brush into molten silver and drawn it through every hair in her head. Another long look; then he went downstairs, putting his hand on the balustrade to support himself.