The next morning Ervin woke to find a twisted note in the rude arm chair which had formerly held the slim figure.
“Dear Ervin,” it ran. “Doctor Gray says you are out of danger now, and I must go back to my father. I have just had a note from your mother and she says he grows feebler every day. Your mother will be in Charleston by the time you can be moved, and so I know my dear boy’s recovery is assured.
“I am slipping away to spare you the pain of parting, but I shall carry away the memory of our sweet talk of last night and my prayers for you will go up night and day. Always your loving
Helen.”
It was well that she hurried home swiftly, for an enemy more fearful than minie balls had attacked her. Ere she left the city by the sea, her lips were parched, and her tongue in the glass looked like brick dust. Feverish and dizzy, she left the little train at the Dunvegan station and tried to make her way as best she could through the village. None knew she was coming, and none met her. Some girls saw her in the distance and wondered if that reeling figure could be Helen Preston returned to Dunvegan. Out and over the old road she struggled until the long hill must be climbed that led up to Sunahlee. She remembered vaguely how, in her childhood days, she used to run up its steepness with Ervin—she would be brave and try it now. At the first step, she stumbled and fell in the rhododendron bushes by the wayside. “O God—” she murmured, “I think I—am—going—to—faint—. Keep—Ervin—well—for Jesus’—”
Uncle Ben had seen her fall, and found her there unconscious. Faithful in all things, he bore her to the great house, his dogs pulling loyally at their traces.
The physician came in due time, and looked grave. Doctor Allerton was there also. When he saw Doctor McIntyre’s lips quiver he went to the window and looked out past the ivy-covered cabin, past the blue-peaked Wahaws, past the gate of Heaven.
Each day found the blazing fever stronger and its victim weaker.