"I don't think you have chosen your vocation wisely," he said, when I had told him of my forgetfulness.
"It seems not."
He went out. Very gently he entered the place of the soulless one. I heard a low, murmurous sound, with a deal of contentment in it. After a few moments they came out. He asked me again to carry the lamp. I went up before them. I couldn't go after; I was afraid of words, or I knew not what, coming from that room.
Mr. Axtell gave the second powder, evidently afraid to trust me. Miss Lettie seemed quite tranquil,—a change had come over her. Her brother poured a cup of coffee and told me to drink it. What right had he to tell me to do anything? What right had I to notice it amid the scenes of this night? but I did, and the coffee remained untasted.
"I cannot trust you alone," he said; and leaving me sitting there in Miss Lettie's chair before the fire, he lay down upon the lounge and went to sleep.
The half-hour went by; this time I would remember my duty. Miss Axtell was awake still, but very quiet. Her face was scorched with fever, when I gave her the third powder. I began to feel excessively sleepy; but to fail the second time,—it would never answer. The coffee was the alternative; I drank of it.
Again Miss Axtell asked that I would bathe her head. That, with the half-hour powders, which quite forgot their sleep-bestowing characteristic, was the only change until the day began to dawn.
Katie crept in with it, all in the little shivers March mornings bring.
She didn't see Mr. Axtell. She asked,—
"How has Miss Lettie been?"