She knew she could not have swallowed food in her present state of suspense, and before Emmie could again remonstrate she had left the cottage, and was on the way to Juniper Lodge.
She found Dr. Stewart in his surgery. She fancied he listened a little gravely to her account.
"She has not come under my notice for the last six or seven weeks," he said, as he prepared, at Queenie's urgent request, to accompany her. "In my opinion she has always been a delicate child. Such an illness as you have described may leave its effects for years."
As they entered the parlor they found Emmie stretched on the rug as usual, and this time Queenie's heart sank within her at the sight.
"Oh, Emmie, you are not tired again?" she said, almost impatiently, for she feared that this would impress Dr. Stewart unfavorably; but he apparently took no notice. He watched the child with keen attention as she roused herself somewhat feebly, and came towards them.
"Has Queenie asked you to make me less tired?" she demanded gravely, fixing her blue eyes on his face.
"Young creatures like you ought never to be tired," he answered cheerfully. "Do you often lie down in this fashion, eh?"
"I lie down because my bones ache, and I have such an odd, funny feeling sometimes."
And then, as Dr. Stewart questioned her jokingly about the feelings, she told him in her childish way of all manner of strange fancies and dreams that troubled her, and of the queer faintness that came over her at times; and how her cough began to hurt her: and how she got more tired and good for nothing every day.
Dr. Stewart's face grew graver as he listened. When he had finished a most careful examination of the child he sat for a little while in silence, while Queenie watched him anxiously.