Fleda hurried back to the house, feeling that she had gone to the limit of risk already. Not daring to show herself to Hugh in her chilled state of body and mind, she went into the kitchen.
"Why, what on earth's come over you!" was Barby's terrified ejaculation, when she saw her.
"I have been out and got myself cold "
"Cold!" said Barby "you're looking dreadful! What on earth ails you, Fleda?"
"Don't ask me, Barby," said Fleda, hiding her face in her hands, and shivering; "I made myself very cold just now Aunt Lucy doesn't feel very well, and I got frightened," she added, presently.
"What's the matter with her?"
"I don't know if you'll make me a cup of tea, I'll take it up to her, Barby."
"You put yourself down there," said Barby, placing her with gentle force in a chair; "you'll do no such a thing till I see you look as if there was some blood in you. I'll take it up myself."
But Fleda held her, though with a hand much too feeble indeed for any but moral suasion. It was enough. Barby stood silently, and very anxiously watching her, till the fire had removed the outward chill at least. But even that took long to do, and before it was well done, Fleda again asked for the cup of tea. Barby made it without a word, and Fleda went to her aunt with it, taking her strength from the sheer emergency. Her knees trembled under her as she mounted the stairs, and once a glimpse of those words flitted across her mind "patient continuance in well-doing." It was like a lightning flash in a dark night showing the way one must go. She could lay hold of no other stay. Her mind was full of one intense purpose to end the suspense.
She gently tried the door of her aunt's room; it was unfastened, and she went in. Mrs. Rossitur was lying on the bed; but her first mood had changed, for at Fleda's soft word and touch she half rose up, and, putting both arms round her waist, laid her face against her. There were no tears still, only a succession of low moans, so inexpressibly weak and plaintive, that Fleda's nature could hardly bear them without giving way. A more fragile support was never clung to. Yet her trembling fingers, in their agony, moved caressingly among her aunt's hair and over her brow, as she begged her when she could, she was not able at first to let her know the cause that was grieving her. The straitened clasp of Mrs. Rossitur's arms, and her increased moaning, gave only an answer of pain. But Fleda repeated the question. Mrs. Rossitur still neglecting it, then made her sit down upon the bed, so that she could lay her head higher on Fleda's bosom; where she hid it, with a mingling of fondness given and asked a poor seeking for comfort and rest, that wrung her niece's heart.