And so they did not disturb her further. After all, sleep does wonders, as Dr. Rane remarked.
It might have been that Mr. Seeley went away somewhat puzzled, scarcely thinking that the fever had been on her sufficiently long to leave her in this state of exhaustion.
As the day went on a rumour was whispered that Mrs. Rane was dying. Whence it arose none could trace, unless from a word or two dropped by Dr. Rane himself to Thomas Hepburn. They happened to meet in the street, and the undertaker stopped to inquire after Mrs. Rane. She was in a most critical state, was the doctor's answer; the night would decide it, one way or the other.
Phillis went up to her mistress several times. Dr. Rane kept the hanging sheet well saturated, and flapped it often. Mrs. Rane never seemed to rouse herself throughout the day: seemed, in fact, to sleep through it. Phillis began to hope that it was indeed comfortable, refreshing rest, and that she would wake from it better.
"You'll let me stay here to-night, sir?" she said, when there was nothing more to be done, as Dr. Rane--who had been out--came in, and passed by the kitchen.
"No need," he answered in his decisive manner. "Be here the first thing in the morning."
Phillis put on her shawl and bonnet, wished him goodnight, and departed. It was about ten o'clock. Dr. Rane saw her out and went up to the sick room. In less than five minutes he came down again with a white face, opened the front-door, and strode across the road to Mr. Seeley's. The latter was in his surgery, in the act of pouring some medicine into a small phial.
"Seeley! Seeley! My wife is gone!"
What with the suddenness of the interruption, and the words, the surgeon was so startled that he dropped the bottle.
"Gone!" he cried. "Do you mean dead?"