“T’ the south,” she added, with a swift, wondering look into his eyes, “an’ back.”
“Child,” he began with feeling, “I——”
In some strange passion my sister stepped from him. “Call me that no more!” she cried, her voice broken, her eyes wide and moist, her little hands clinched. “Why, child!” the doctor exclaimed. “I——”
“I’m not a child!”
The doctor turned helplessly to me—and I in bewilderment to my sister—to whom, again, the doctor extended his hands, but now with a frank smile, as though understanding that which still puzzled me.
“Sister——” said he.
“No, no!”
’Twas my nature, it may be, then to have intervened; but I was mystified and afraid—and felt the play of some great force, unknown and dreadful, which had inevitably cut my sister off from me, her brother, keeping her alone and helpless in the midst of it—and I quailed and kept silent.
“Bessie!”