"Good-morning, Father Honoré; how is Mrs. Googe? I have just heard of her illness."
It was Sister Ste. Croix from the sisterhood home in The Gore.
The crisp morning air tinged with a slight color her wrinkled and furrowed cheeks; her eyelids, also, were horribly wrinkled, as could be plainly seen when they drooped heavily over the dark blue eyes. Yet Sister Ste. Croix was still in middle life.
"There is every cause for great anxiety, I grieve to say. The doctor has just gone."
"Who is with her, do you know?"
"Mrs. Caukins, so Ellen says."
"Do you think she would object to having me nurse her for a while? She has been so lovely to me ever since I came here, and in one way and another we have been much together. I have tried again and again to see her during these dreadful weeks, but she has steadily refused to see me or any of us—just shut herself out from her friends."
"I wish she would have you about her; it would do her good; and surely Mrs. Caukins can't leave her household cares to stay with her long, nor can she be running back and forth to attend to her. I am going to make the attempt to see her, and if I succeed I will tell her that you are ready to come at any minute—and only waiting to come to her."
"Do; and won't you tell Ellen I will come down and see her this afternoon? Poor girl, she has been so terrified with the events of these last weeks that I have feared she would not stay. If I'm here, I feel sure she would remain."
"If Mrs. Googe will not heed your request, I do hope you will make it your mission work to induce Ellen to stay."