The morning light showed dimly through the frosty little panes behind the green curtain. Upon the old-fashioned bureau she could just see, as she glanced up wearily now and then, the shape of her tall brass candlestick, with its long stalactites of tallow hanging from the upper rim. The footsteps plodded to and fro. Pots and pans occasionally interjected a staccato note above the soft purring of the fire and the hum of the teakettle. Then another pair of boots joined the first,—evidently a man’s, but managed with wonderful care so as not to disturb the visitors.
Pretty soon the door opened once more, and ’Lisbeth entered, bearing a small japanned tray, upon which were set a plate of toast in tiny slices, a steaming cup of tea, and a sugar-bowl with its pair of silver tongs, slim but solid.
“Now, dear, a bit of this will do you good.”
“But I’m not hungry.”
“No, poor child, I didn’t suppose you would be. Well” (comfortably again), “suppose I butter a piece of toast,—the littlest piece,—just for you to taste. Maybe ’t will make ye sleepy.” There was no resisting that, and the feverish girl did manage to take a very wee lunch from the motherly fingers. Then she fell back among the pillows, exhausted.
“If ye can jest ketch a nap now,” said ’Lisbeth in a whisper, as if her charge were already in danger of being waked, “it’ll do ye lots of good.”
The toast and the hot tea and Lisbeth’s whispers must have had a soothing effect, for Florence soon dropped into an uneasy slumber, throughout which, however, she had a continual sense of heat and discomfort. When she awoke, it was broad day. The world was as silent as a dream. To ears accustomed to the roar of a city and the cries and laughter of children at play, the stillness was not a mere negative quality of the air,—an absence of sound,—it was an almost tangible thing, and Florence felt smothered beneath its folds. She pressed her hand to her head, and found it burning hot. Her pulse was throbbing fiercely through her slender wrists.
“Mrs. Eldridge!” she called faintly. She had heard ’Lisbeth so addressed by the driver the night before.
The soft rustle of a woolen dress, and the firm, now familiar footfall, were heard at once. In a moment more the elder woman was holding the hand of the younger.