“Yes, certainly,” he answered, and then hurried down stairs, and out into the yard, where his horse was already saddled and waiting for him.
Edna had given orders to that effect before she called him, and she stood watching him as he galloped down the avenue and turned toward Oakwood.
Georgie seemed better; had spoken once, and moved her fingers just a little, they told Roy, in answer to his inquiries; but when he asked if he could see her, he was put off with the excuse that a sight of him might excite her too much at present, and then he asked for Mrs. Burton, and was going to her room, when Mr. Burton exclaimed:
“Don’t for thunder’s sake go there. She’s in the awfulest hysterics, I reckon, you ever run against, and the old boy generally is to pay.”
But Mrs. Burton would see Roy, and so he went to her, and at sight of him she went off into another cramp, and clutched him round the neck, and cried and sobbed over him, and called him her poor, dear boy, and spoke so touchingly of Georgie, that Roy, always sympathetic, felt the tears rush to his own eyes as he tried to comfort her. The house was full of guests, some of whom were huddled together in groups, talking over the terrible calamity, while others were packing their trunks preparatory to leaving on the first train for New York. There would be no wedding that day, of course, so all the morning the baggage wagon came and went, as guest after guest departed, both from Oakwood and the hotel, until Summerville generally was emptied of its strangers, and an air of gloom settled down upon it, as the citizens thought of the sad change a few hours had wrought.
They had told Georgie of Roy’s presence in the house, and how he cried in Mrs. Burton’s room. Then every muscle of Georgie’s face was convulsed, and Jack, who was with her constantly, never forgot the look of anguish which came into her eyes, or the quivering motion of her lips as she tried in vain to speak again. What she thought no one could guess, and she was powerless to tell, as she lay there all the day listening so eagerly to all they said about the hunt for the burglar, which was still going on.
“They will be pretty sure to find him; he cannot escape,” Jack said, and then Georgie gave forth a cry which curdled his very blood, and made him turn quickly towards her, trying to read what she wanted in her eyes.
But he could not, though he thought he understood that talking of the burglar distressed her, and he forbade the mention of the subject in her presence again. Even that did not satisfy her. There was the same strange look in her eyes when they rested on his face, the same evident desire to say something to him, and after a time she succeeded. They were alone, he and she, for he would not leave her, and she would not suffer it if he would. She had seemed to be sleeping, and all had left the room but Jack, who sat rubbing her hand, and marvelling at the great change in her face within so short a time.
“Ja—ack,” she said, and after a pause added, “Don’t—”
Then she waited again, and Jack asked: “Don’t what, sister! Don’t leave you? Is that it?”