And here what threatened to be a violent fit of hysteria ended in a brief interval of unconsciousness.
The door opened, light streamed into the room, and Aunt Hessy, lamp in hand, entered. Madge had slipped down to the floor, and long, sobbing sighs were relieving the overpent emotions of her heart.
‘Thou art here, child, and in such a plight!’
The good dame did not waste more words in useless exclamations of amazement and sorrow, but raised her niece to the chair and, without calling for any assistance, applied those simple restoratives which a careful country housewife has always at command for emergencies. The effect of these was greatly aided by the sturdy efforts made by the patient herself to control the weakness to which she had for a space succumbed.
‘I’ll be better in a minute or two, aunt,’ were the first words she managed to say; ‘don’t fret about me.’
‘I shall fret much, child, if thou dost not continue to fret less thyself.’
‘I’ll try.... But there is such sore news. Philip says he is ruined, and that he must—he must ... because it is Uncle Dick’s wish ... he must’——
She was unable to finish the sentence.
‘Say nothing more until I give thee leave to speak,’ said Aunt Hessy with gentle firmness; but the tone was one which Madge knew was never heard save when the dame was most determined to be obeyed. ‘We have heard much since thou hast been away; and we have been in fright about thee, as it grew late. But though thou wert with friends, I knew that home was dear to thee, whether thou wast glad or sad. So I came up here, and found thee.’
‘But the ruin is not what I mind: it is his saying that we are to part.’