Miriam’s rubber-soled shoes made no noise on the hardwood floor and she gained the hall door without disturbing her patient.
“What is it?” she asked, stepping partly into the hall, down which the sheriff had retreated a few paces.
“I’d like to have a talk with you,” he replied. “Just quietly, by ourselves.”
“But my patient!” she exclaimed.
“She is asleep, isn’t she?”
“Yes, but—” She came further into the hall so as to speak more emphatically and yet not awaken Mrs. Nash. “I am on night duty. I cannot leave my patient alone.”
“You don’t have to; Mrs. Corbin will stay with her, and call you if there is the slightest need for your presence.” Sheriff Trenholm moved to one side and Miriam caught a glimpse beyond him of Martha loitering by the door to Paul Abbott’s old bedroom. “Come, Miss Ward, you will only be across the corridor from Mrs. Nash; and it is essential that I see you to-night.“ His voice deepened and his hand, as if by accident, pulled back his coat so that the badge of authority on his vest was visible. “I’ll relieve you of any responsibility should Mrs. Nash question your absence,” he added. “Go in, Mrs. Corbin,” as the housekeeper, who had drawn nearer, paused undecidedly.
Miriam stepped back into the bedroom. Mrs. Nash was still asleep—there was really nothing left for her to do but obey the sheriff. She turned to Martha, standing timidly half in and half out of the room.
“Sit over in that chair,” she directed softly, indicating the one she had occupied a moment before. “If Mrs. Nash grows restless in her sleep or wakens, come at once for me.”
“Yes, Ma’am—Miss.” Martha found it difficult to decide on her mode of address so far as the nurse was concerned, and compromised the matter by jumbling the titles together. “Don’t ye be afeared; I’ll call ye.”