"Ah, it is true!" she cried, and her hand, as though holding him guilty of the fact, violently pushed him from her.
"Mrs. Bloodgood—" Beecher began hesitatingly, frightened at the paroxysm that shook her body.
But the emotion was still of horror, without as yet the realization of the finality that had come. She felt that Majendie was in danger—in terrible danger; that she must get to him, somehow, some way, and fling herself in front of that awful something that threatened him, ward off, in some way prevent, the thing that was coming. She seized the arm of the terrified young man, imploring him, still dry-eyed:
"Take me to him—at once—no—I must—take me—Bernard—oh!"
She fell back exhausted, faint.
"Be calm; please be calm," he repeated, helpless before the utter disorder of her suffering.
All at once the annihilation of self into which she had fallen was succeeded by a quick paroxysm of energy. She bounded upright on the seat, seizing his arm so that the nails hurt him.
"I will go to him!" she cried. "You shall not stop me. He may be only wounded. The report is false—must be false. I will go to him!"
"The very thing that you must not do—that you can not do," he said firmly; and then, seized with an inspiration, he added: "Listen—listen to me, Mrs. Bloodgood, I am taking you to Rita's; if you must go to him, go with her. Two women can go; one would cause a great scandal. You can not put that on him—you must think of him now. We are going to Rita's—Rita's!" he added, putting his lips to her ears to make her hear him.
He put his hand on her shoulder and forced her gently back. She held her clasped hands rigidly strained between her knees, staring out beyond the confines of the carriage.