"Don't you think we had best send for your father and Aunt Lettice?" Mary said in her calm way, although the tears were running down her cheeks. "And the doctor must be called at once."
"Leet has already gone into the town to tell them that Dot is here. But I will have Trent put the horses into the sleigh, and he and I will hasten in at once and fetch them all back, and the doctor as well, unless he can come out ahead of us. You will stop right here beside her, won't you, sweetheart?" he added anxiously, as he turned to leave the room.
"Why, of course I will." And Mary looked at her husband a little reproachfully.
"And you do not mind being left alone?" he asked, looking back over his shoulder, while his hand gripped the open door in a way that told of the tension upon him.
She shook her head, smiling at him through her tears.
Jack had no sooner gone than the faithful Tyntie came to see if she were needed. But Mary sent her away with the assurance that she herself could do all that was to be done at present.
The ravings of the sick girl troubled her; and she deemed it prudent that no other ear should hear words she felt might have a hidden meaning.
Dorothy still rambled on about the ruby ring and scarlet coat. Once the name of Master Weeks fell from her lips, coupled with wild lamentations that she had ever signed the register, and so risked the breaking of her father's heart.
After a little time—Dorothy having become quiet—Mary stood looking out of the window, her eyes resting on the glittering fields that spread away to the gray line of the ocean, where the cold waves were curling in with glassy backs, and foam-ridged edges as white as the snow they seemed to seek upon the land.
She had been watching the gulls circling about with shrill screams or hanging poised over the water, when a low call caused her to start.