'What can I do?' he said aloud, unconsciously, while from the depths of
the chair on which Maude was leaning back so wearily came a plaintive
voice like that of a child:
'Ring the bell, and give me my handkerchief.'
He was at her side in a moment, bending over her, and looking anxiously
into the pallid face from which the bright color had faded, leaving it
gray, and pinched, and drawn, it seemed to him. Had he killed her by
blurting out so roughly that she was mistaken; and thus filling her with
mortification and shame? No, that could not be, for as he brought her
handkerchief and bent still closer to her, she whispered to him:
'I am not mistaken, Hally. I am going to die, but you have made the last
days of my life very, very happy.'
She thought he was referring to herself and her situation when he told
her she was mistaken, and with a smothered groan he was starting for the
camphor, as she bade him do, when the door opened, and Mrs. Tracy
herself appeared.
'What is it?' she asked, sharply; then, as she saw Maude's face she knew
what it was, and going swiftly to her, said to Harold:
'Why did you allow her to talk and get excited? What were you saying to
her?'
Instantly Maude's eyes went up to Harold's with an appealing look, as if
asking him not to tell her mother then--a precaution which was needless,
as he had no intention to tell Mrs.
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