"Righd oop der stairs, at der back of der halle. Der room mit der door oppen."
Miss Baker met the doctor at the landing, she told him in a whisper of the trouble.
"Her husband's deserted her, I'm afraid, doctor, and took all of her money — a good deal of it. It's about killed the poor child. She was out of her head a good deal of the night, and now she's got a raging fever."
The doctor and Miss Baker returned to the room and entered, closing the door. The big doctor stood for a moment looking down at Trina rolling her head from side to side upon the pillow, her face scarlet, her enormous mane of hair spread out on either side of her. The little dressmaker remained at his elbow, looking from him to Trina.
"Poor little woman!" said the doctor; "poor little woman!"
Miss Baker pointed to the trunk, whispering:
"See, there's where she kept her savings. See, he broke the lock."
"Well, Mrs. McTeague," said the doctor, sitting down by the bed, and taking Trina's wrist, "a little fever, eh?"
Trina opened her eyes and looked at him, and then at Miss Baker. She did not seem in the least surprised at the unfamiliar faces. She appeared to consider it all as a matter of course.
"Yes," she said, with a long, tremulous breath, "I have a fever, and my head — my head aches and aches."