The boy's eyes were now wide open, and he was looking at the tall slender figure of the girl standing out black against the lamp in the window.
"Aunt Hetty."
"That's my own boy. Now you know me," said the girl in a soothing and encouraging tone as she went back to the bed.
"Aunt Hetty, where's mother gone?"
"She wasn't here, Frank. You were only dreaming."
"O, but I wasn't. I saw her. She lay down beside me on the bed, and she had red spots on her face."
The girl shuddered.
The woman gasped and felt as if her heart would burst through her ribs.
"Philip," said the girl, once more going to the window, "I don't like this at all. I think the child must be a little feverish. He says his mother was here, and that she lay down beside him on the bed, and that she has spots on her face. What do you say ought to be done?"
"Nothing at all. Get the child to sleep if you can. As you say, he has been dreaming."