Miss Louise met them at the door, tears rolling down her fat cheeks. She still was dressed in her stiff black silk but had tied on a great gingham apron over her best dress.
“How good of you to come to us!” was all she could sob out.
“You should have sent for us immediately,” said Helen, putting her arms around the trembling old woman.
“Ella always wants Dr. Allison, and I hated so to break up the pleasure of the young people.”
“Where is your sister?” asked Dr. Wright, taking off his gloves and great coat, and extracting a small leather case from its pocket.
“I got her to bed after she came to.”
“She is conscious then?”
“Yes, but very low, very low. She has been so docile I am afraid she is going to die,” and the poor lady began to weep anew.
“Let me go in with the doctor,” insisted Helen. “I can do what is necessary and you might scare Miss Ella. She mustn’t be made to think she is so ill.”
The tall form of Miss Ella was stretched on the great four-posted bed, and so still was it that for a moment Helen was afraid to go near.