“Nonsense or not, those wicked people will see that they have killed me!”
Judith did not leave her any more, nor did Jacqueline sleep one moment, or cease her weeping. She held Judith tightly about the neck, and her warm tears dropped incessantly. Toward daylight Judith began to be alarmed. But nothing was to be done. It would simply break the hearts of the unconscious father and mother if they knew what had happened, and if she roused them they must know. Judith went to her own room and brought back some brandy, which she forced Jacqueline to take. In a little while it began to show its effect. Jacqueline stopped sobbing, and lay in the great dawn, with her face white and drawn and tear-stained. Judith, again hoping she might sleep, left her.
All that day Jacqueline lay in her bed dumb and motionless. Judith said the child was tired after the ball; perhaps she would get up later on. Mrs. Temple, supposing she was resting after her dissipation, did not go up to see her in the morning. In the afternoon, as Jacqueline showed no signs of getting up, Mrs. Temple went up to her. One look at her pallid face, and Mrs. Temple, calm and self-possessed as she usually was, almost shrieked, Jacqueline was so changed.
“Tell your master to come here at once!” she cried to Delilah.
General Temple came up-stairs, hurried and flurried, and felt for Jacqueline’s pulse, but could detect no beating. And then Delilah owned up:
“Dat ar chile ain’ tech a mou’ful dis day. I bring her up nice hot breakfus’, an’ she jes’ tu’n her face ter de wall an’ say, ‘Go ’long, mammy, I c’yarn eat.’ Now, huccome she c’yarn eat?”
“My daughter, what is the matter with you?” asked Mrs. Temple, anxiously.
Of late this half-forgotten child had been steadily forcing herself upon Mrs. Temple’s notice.
“Nothing,” answered Jacqueline, quietly.
But Jacqueline would not eat anything to speak of. In vain Mrs. Temple commanded, General Temple prayed her; Judith also pleaded with her, and Delilah—even little Beverley, climbing on the bed, said: