Every footfall was taken to-day with reference to this. An impression of Justin as of something noble and firm seemed to emanate from the room where he lay and fill the house; in his complete abdication, he dominated as never before. More than that, there seemed to be a peculiar poignancy, a peculiar sweetness, in every little thing done for him; it made one honorable to serve him.
The light was still brightly that of day at a quarter of seven, when Dosia, who had been putting Zaidee and Redge to bed, came into Lois’ room, and found her with crimson cheeks and eyes red from weeping. At Dosia’s entrance she rose at once from her chair, and Dosia saw that she was partially dressed in her walking-skirt; she flared out passionately as she was crossing the room, as if in answer to some implied criticism:
“I don’t care what you say—I don’t care what anybody says. I can’t stand it any longer, when it’s killing him! He can’t rest unless he has that money. Am I to just sit down and let my husband die, when he’s in such trouble as this? Is that all I can do? Why, whose trouble is it? Mine as well as his! If it’s his responsibility, it’s mine, too—mine as well as his!”
She hit her soft hand against the sharp edge of the table, and was unconscious that it bled. “If there’s nobody else to get that money for him, I’ll rise up and get it. He’s stood alone long enough—long enough! He says there is no help left, but he forgets that there’s his wife!”
“Oh, Lois,” said Dosia, half weeping. “Oh, Lois, what can you do? There, you’ve waked the baby—he’s crying.”
“Get me the waist to this skirt and my walking-jacket. No, give me the baby first; he’s hungry.”
She spoke collectedly, bending over the child as she held him to her, and straightening the folds of the little garments. “There, there, dear little heart, dear little heart, mother’s comfort—oh, my comfort, my blessing! Get my things out of the closet now, Dosia, and my gloves from that drawer, the top one. Oh, and bring me baby’s cloak and cap, too. I forgot that I couldn’t leave him. I must take him with me.” She had sunk her voice to a low murmur, so as not to disturb the child.
“Where are you going?” asked Dosia.
“To Eugene Larue.”
“Mr. Larue!”