"Yes. Run."
Clam ran home. But quick as her speed had been, when she got the handle of the door in her hand she saw a figure that she knew, coming down the street; and waited for him to come up. Winthrop and she passed into the house together.
The gentleman turned into one of the deserted parlours; and Clam with a quick and soft step ran up stairs and into the sick room. Mr. Haye lay there unconscious. Elizabeth was sitting by the side of the bed, with a face of stern and concentrated anxiety.
"Here's the stuff," said Clam, setting some medicine on the table; — "and there's a gentleman down stairs that wants to see you, Miss 'Lizabeth — on business."
"Business!" said Elizabeth, — "Did you tell him what was in the house?"
"I told him," said Clam, "and he don't care. He wants to see you."
Elizabeth had no words to waste, nor heart to speak them. She got up and went down stairs and in at the open parlour door, like a person who walks in a dream through a dreadful labyrinth of pain, made up of what used to be familiar objects of pleasure. So she went in. But so soon as her eye caught the figure standing before the fireplace, though she did not know what he had come there for, only that he was there, her heart sprang as to a pillar of hope. She stopped short and her two hands were brought together with an indescribable expression, telling of relief.
"Oh Mr. Landholm! what brought you here!"
He came forward to where she stood and took one of her hands; and felt that she was trembling like a shaking leaf.
"How is your father?" was his question.