“Margaret,” said he, “you look overworked.”
“Oh, no, sir,” I said, half ashamed to tell of my fright.
“I’m glad to hear you say so,” he answered. “I was about to ask you whether you could add to your duties by taking full charge of Julianna.”
“The baby!” said I. “Has anything happened to Mrs. Colfax?”
“No,” he said, a bit excited, “but I’m going to send her away to-day. I trust it will be soon enough. The doctor has been advising it this long time. Mrs. Colfax is on the edge of nervous prostration, and the baby should be taken from her now and put in your care while she is gone.”
I think I must have shrunk back from him. I remembered the screams. I could hear them again in my ears—terrible, terrible screams—at the river.
“While she is gone!” I whispered.
“Yes,” said he. “What ails you? You have heard the plan before.”
“But the haste, sir,” I said. “What is this dreadful hurry about?”
“Not so loud,” said he. “You will hear the news soon enough. I may as well tell you. But it must be kept from her at any cost until she is away. A dreadful thing has happened—happened in the night,—not two hundred yards from this house. A woman has been murdered.”