"Don't wait to harness into the carryall, Tave—take me now—in the trap—take me away from here. I don't need you, Hannah. I didn't know I was so weak—the air will make me feel better; give me my cloak, Aileen."
The girl wrapped her in it, adjusted the burnous, that had fallen from her head, and went with her to the door. Aurora turned and looked at her. The girl's heart was nigh to bursting. Impulsively she threw her arms around the woman's neck and whispered: "If you need me, do send for me—I'll come."
But Aurora Googe went forth from Champ-au-Haut without a word either to the girl, to Hannah, or to Octavius Buzzby.
For the first two miles they drove in silence. The night was clear but cold, the ground frozen hard; a northwest wind roared in the pines along the highroad and bent the bare treetops on the mountain side. From time to time Octavius heard the woman beside him sigh heavily as from physical exhaustion. When, at last, he felt that she was shivering, he spoke:
"Are you cold, Aurora? I've got something extra under the seat."
"No, I'm not cold; I feel burning up."
He turned to look at her face in the glare of an electric light they were passing. It was true; the rigor was that of increasing fever; her cheeks were scarlet.
"I wish you'd have let me telephone for the doctor; I don't feel right not to leave you in his hands to-night, and Ellen hasn't got any head on her."
"No—no; I don't need him; he couldn't do me any good—nobody can.—Tave, did you hear her, what she said?" She leaned towards him to whisper her question as if she feared the dark might have ears.