"You need it worse than I, poor Fleda"
"I will go too presently--I do not think anybody will be here tonight."
"Is--Are there--Is this what has taken him away?" said Hugh.
Her silence and her look told him, and then laying her cheek again alongside of his she whispered, how unsteadily, "We have only one help, dear Hugh."
They were still and quiet again for minutes, counting the pulses of pain; till Fleda came back to her poor wish "to keep what they could." She mixed a restorative of wine and water, which however little desired, she felt was necessary for both of them, and Hugh went up stairs. She staid a few minutes to prepare another glass with particular care for her aunt. It was just finished, and taking her candle she had bid Barby good-night, when there came a loud rap at the front door. Fleda set down candle and glass, from the quick inability to hold them as well as for other reasons; and she and Barby stood and looked at each other, in such a confusion of doubt and dread that some little time had passed before either stirred even her eyes. Barby then threw down the tongs with which she had begun to make preparations for covering up the fire and set off to the front.
"You mustn't open the door, Barby," cried Fleda, following her. "Come in here and let us look out of one of the windows."
Before this could be reached however, there was another prolonged repetition of the first thundering burst. It went through Fleda's heart, because of the two up stairs who must hear it.
Barby threw up the sash.
"Who's there?"
"Is this Mr. Rossitur's place?" enquired a gruff voice.