His laugh was terrible, and Kitty would stop her ears to shut out the sound.
“Somebody has tried to kill him,” she said to Kenneth, whose conscience smote him a little, but who made no reply.
Now that Connie was his and Hal so low, he felt only pity for him and ministered to him with all a brother’s care, but with no good result. As the summer days grew hotter the fever ran higher and higher, until at last neither Dr. Catherin nor Kenneth gave any hope to Kitty, whose thoughts turned to Connie as a friend she would like to have with her.
“Do you think she would come?” she said to Kenneth, who answered:
“I don’t really know. I’ll telegraph to her for you.”
That afternoon he sent a telegram to Connie, saying:
“Hal is dying. Kitty wants you. Come if you can.
Kenneth.”
He was right in his conjecture that a message from him would be more effectual than one from Kitty. It found her in her aunt’s house, tired of everything, and with a dread that the count, while treating her as if he were her father, and professing the utmost affection for his wife, might again say words to her to which she could not listen. If Hal were dying, and Kitty wanted her, duty and inclination bade her go, and the morning after she received the telegram she was on her way to Millville. She was not expected on that train, and as there was no one to meet her, Jehu and Henriet took her up the hill to the villa, on the doors of which knots of crape were tied.
“He’s dead!” she exclaimed, while Jehu rejoined: