“It’s Betty!” he exclaimed, with a feeble wave of his hand. “Go—go—let her in.”
“I will, but don’t excite yourself,” she cautioned. “Lie down on your pillows, Mr. Abbott, and keep yourself covered,” drawing the eiderdown quilt over his shoulders as she spoke.
Another, and more imperative peal of the bell caused her to hasten across the bedroom and into the hall. She peered ahead expectantly as she went down the staircase, hoping for a glimpse of the caretaker, Corbin. Evidently the bell had not disturbed his slumbers, for she could distinguish no one approaching in the semi-darkness. Unfamiliar as she was with her surroundings it took Miss Ward several minutes to let down the night latch and turn the old-fashioned key in the lock of the vestibule door. As she swung the latter open she was pushed back and two figures stepped across the threshold, closing the door behind them. The first, a tall slender girl, her handsome fur coat covered with snow, stopped halfway to the staircase and addressed Miss Ward.
“Where is Mr. Abbott?” she demanded. “And why have you kept us waiting so long?”
“I presume the caretaker is still asleep,” replied the nurse. “Otherwise the door would have been opened more promptly. Mr. Abbott is ill in bed. Very ill,” she added, meeting the girl’s imperious glance with a steady gaze. “This is no hour for visitors for a sick man.”
“Oh, the hour!” The girl turned disdainfully away. “I must see Mr. Abbott; it is imperative. You are the nurse?” with a questioning glance at her white uniform.
“Yes, and as such in charge of the sick room,” crisply. “I cannot permit—”
“Just a moment,” broke in the girl’s companion, who, until that instant, had busied himself with closing both the vestibule and inner front door. As he stepped closer and unbuttoned his heavy overcoat Miss Ward caught a glimpse of his clerical dress. “This is Miss Elizabeth Carter, Mr. Abbott’s fiancée, and I am Dr. Nash of Washington. Miss Carter received word that Mr. Abbott is alarmingly ill—”
“With small hope for his recovery.” The words escaped Betty Carter through quivering lips, and looking closely at her, Miss Ward discovered her eyelashes wet with tears. “Don’t keep us standing here when time is so precious,” and turning she ran up the staircase, followed by the clergyman and Miss Ward.
An odd sound far down the corridor caused the nurse to hesitate before accompanying the others into the sick room, and for several seconds she stood poised outside the door, her head bent in a listening attitude. The sound, whatever it was, and Miss Ward could have sworn it was a faint whimper, was not repeated. She was thankful to turn from the contemplation of the dark, winding corridor to the companionship of her patient and his two belated visitors.