“Where—where is Miss Dolly?”
“Now, Marse Dick, doctah done say you not t' talk, suh.”
“Where is Miss Dolly?” I cried, seizing her arm.
“Hush, Marse Dick. Miss Dolly'll come terectly, suh. She's lyin' down, suh.”
The door creaked, and in my eagerness I tried to lift myself. 'Twas Aunt Lucy's hand that restrained me, and the next face I saw was that of Dorothy's mother. But why did it appear so old and sorrow-lined? And why was the hair now of a whiteness with the lace of the cap? She took my fingers in her own, and asked me anxiously if I felt any pain.
“Where am I, Mrs. Manners?”
“You are in London, Richard.”
“In Arlington Street?”
She shook her head sadly. “No, my dear, not in Arlington Street. But you are not to talk.”
“And Dorothy? May I not see Dorothy? Aunt Lucy tells me she is here.”