Two days passed, without word from Laurence. He seldom stayed away as long as this without sending some message, except when he was on circuit. The third day, as Mary was driving back from the meeting where she had read her paper on Æschylus, she saw Jim on the street; he threw up his hand, came running and jumped into the carriage.
"I was coming for you, Mr. Lavery's at the house—Father's ill—he wants you to go to the city. They think it's typhoid." He leaned forward and told the coachman to drive faster. "You can get the six-thirty in if you hurry."
He could tell her no more in answer to her questions. He looked very sober. As they turned in through the gates he said, "Don't you think I'd better go with you? You'll want somebody besides that fellow."
"I don't know—wait," said Mary sharply.
Lavery was at the steps, came forward; but Jim sprang out and gave his hand to Mary. Lavery looked pale and worried.
"You'll just have the time to pack a bag.... The doctor isn't positive yet, but looks like typhoid—he's got a high fever."
The coachman was told to wait and they all hurried into the house.
"How long has he been ill?" demanded Mary.
"Well, since we went in, but—"
"Why didn't some one let me know?"
"He didn't want me to.... Now you better get ready. I'll talk to you on the train."
He turned away, perhaps to avoid further questions. Why had he come for her instead of telegraphing?... But she was already on her way upstairs, followed by the three boys and Anna. They stood about in her room and tried to help while she got out her leather bag and put the necessary things in it. She changed her silk dress for one of dark cloth, tied her bonnet with shaking fingers; it was hard for her to hurry. Jim went down and brought her a glass of sherry and some crackers.
"You'll miss your dinner, better drink this," he urged.
She drank the wine and smiled faintly at him.
"Can't I go with you?" he asked again. "Maybe you'll need me."
"I'll see—but now I want you to look after things here. You'll have to be the man of the house."
A pang shot through her at those words, she frowned and snapped her bag shut. She was ready. John, who had not uttered a word, took her hand as they went downstairs. His fingers were cold and trembling.
"Don't you worry," she said sharply. "I don't believe it's serious. I'll telegraph Jim tomorrow. Now you all be good, get your lessons, go to bed on time—and, Jim, you better go tell your grandfather—"
They all swarmed after her to the carriage. The cook came too, calling:
"We get along all right, Mrs. Carlin, don't worry about us—we do everything we can, Anna and me—"
The three boys kissed her, Jim the last, putting a manly arm around her; she thought how grave and strong his young face looked. Lavery stepped into the carriage, the coachman whipped up his horses; they just made the train.
After a few questions and brief answers Mary sat silent, staring blankly out of the window, during the hour's journey. She found that Laurence had not sent for her, Lavery had come on his own responsibility. The doctor had only this afternoon made the diagnosis of typhoid—he was a smart young man, the best in the city, Lavery thought. And Lavery had taken the tiresome journey instead of telegraphing because he had to explain that Laurence was not at a hotel or hospital, but staying at a friend's house, from which it was thought best not to move him. Laurence had some rooms at this house, it seemed, and—in fact generally stayed there when he was in the city. Mary did not know the name or address—she addressed Laurence when necessary at the Palmer Hotel. But she guessed whose house it was that she was going to. He must be very ill. Otherwise Lavery would hardly be taking her there.... When he had made his halting explanation she had listened, said gravely, "Yes, I see. You did quite right," and then turned away.
There was a long drive over the rough cobble-stones, through streets at first brightly lighted, then almost dark. They approached the lake shore. The carriage stopped before a dimly lighted house standing by itself, but not far from a block of houses of similar size.Lavery helped Mary out and while he was paying the driver she took her bag and walked up to the narrow porch. The door opened above; a woman's figure appeared against the light in the hall. The gas-light had a red-glass shade and cast a rosy glow down on the thin woman in a tight-fitting black silk dress who stood aside to admit the visitor. Red hair, twisted in a thick rough coil on top of her head ... eyes inflamed with tears and now opened wide ... Mary recognized Nora. She bent her head with an inarticulate murmur. Nora simply looked at her. Then Lavery came in and shut the door.
"This way," he said, starting up the narrow stairs. Mary followed. He glanced down at Nora, and asked, "Any change since I left? Has the doctor been?"
She shook her head but did not speak, seemed unable to speak.
On the landing, lit by a dim gas-jet, opened two large connecting rooms. The one into which Lavery led the way was in some disorder. A big table with a student-lamp and sheaves of papers was pushed into a corner, easy-chairs littered with cigar-ashes stood in the middle of the floor; on a stand with decanters and glasses lay Laurence's gold repeater. The door into the farther room opened noiselessly and a young woman in a light dress and white apron came out.
"The nurse, Miss Macdonald," said Lavery in a low tone. "Mrs. Carlin. How is he?"
"About the same. Dr. Sayre will be in between eight and nine. He's very restless." As Mary went toward the other room she added: "I'm afraid he won't know you."
On a wide bed, high-topped with its impending weight of carving, dark as a catafalque, Laurence lay tossing, his hands grasping at the coverlet, his head rolling on the pillow. His eyes were half-open and he was murmuring faint hurried words. Sitting beside him, touching his burning hands and forehead, bending over him, Mary could hear no word clearly, only an inarticulate murmur of distress. He did not notice her presence nor give any sign when she spoke to him, urgently called his name. His face was dully flushed, his black hair rumpled wildly, his eyes glassy under the half-shut lids. He tossed away from her, moaning heavily. A dark-greenish shade had been pinned over the gas-globe; in this light he looked ghastly.
The nurse came in and stood at the foot of the bed. After a few moments Mary got up and beckoned her to the window.
"How long has he been like this?"
"Since I came this morning—only a little more restless toward night."
"He looks terribly ill."
"The doctor ought to be here very soon," said the nurse non-committally.
Mary turned away, stopped a moment at the bedside, then went back into the study. Lavery was there, sunk in a deep leather chair, smoking. Mary turned to close the connecting door and he got up, holding his cigar in his fingers. She walked up to him, her face deathly pale, and clutched his arm.
"Laurence is going to die!... I want to telegraph for my father!"
"He isn't going to die!" cried Lavery angrily. "Ididn't think you'd lose your head like this, first thing, or I wouldn't have gone for you."
But when he felt her hand shake, saw her whole body trembling, he softened somewhat. "Look here, you're too scared. Have you ever seen anybody very sick before?"
"No ... no...." she muttered. "My mother ... but not like this.... He's so strong...."
"Well, he's sick, but we're going to pull him through.... Now look here, are you going to help or not? When I went for you I said to myself, that woman's got good nerve, she'll be a help. But if you're going to be scared to death, first look at him—"
"No—I'll be all right—just a minute—he's never been sick before...."
"Well, I know, but you're going to pull yourself together.... And you come downstairs and eat a bit with me before the doctor gets here. You haven't had dinner and neither have I.... I told them to have something. About telegraphing your father, we'd better wait till you can speak to Sayre about it—that's etiquette and it won't hinder anything. I don't believe he could get a train in tonight, could he?"
"Eleven-thirty."
"Well, it would be too bad to keep him up all night, if not necessary. You wait and see Sayre.... And now come down, you'll feel better when you've got some food."
She followed him down into the small brightly-lit dining-room, sat opposite him at the table, took soup, wine and coffee. She was aware of a black figure moving round the table, bringing dishes in and taking themout.... Then suddenly, with an almost audible click of the machinery, her mind began to work in its usual way. Her vision cleared, she saw Lavery opposite drinking coffee and re-lighting his cigar. She looked round the room—solid oak furniture, reddish carpet and curtains, silver on the sideboard and rows of bright-coloured wine-glasses, green and red, a fine damask cloth on the table....
A noise of wheels and hoofs in the street. Lavery got up. As he went out one door, Nora came in the other, and stopped short. In a quick glance, Mary took in her whole appearance.