When after a night of deep sleep Ann woke to find Leila standing by her bed, she rose on an elbow saying, “What time is it?  Why are you here?”

“It is eight, aunt.  You were ill last night; I stayed on your lounge.”

Now her aunt sat up.  “I was ill, you say—­something happened.”  The thing pieced itself together—­ragged bits of memories storm-scattered by emotion were reassembled, vague at first, then quickly more clear.  She broke into unnaturally rapid speech, reddening darkly, with ominous dilatation of the pupils of her large blue eyes.  “And so James Penhallow is to be made rich by making cannon to kill my people—­oh, I remember!” It seemed absurdly childlike to Leila, who heard her with amazement.  “And with my money—­it is easy to stay at home and murder—­and be paid for it.  Let him go and—­fight.  That’s bad enough—­I—­”

“God of Heaven, Aunt Ann!” the girl broke in, “don’t dare to say that to Uncle Jim.  Are you crazy—­to say such things.”

“I don’t know what I am.  Oh, those cannon!  I hear them.  He shall not do it—­do you hear me?  Now send me up a cup of tea—­and don’t come in again.  I want James—­tell him—­tell him.”

“He went away to the mills at six o’clock.”

“I know.  He is afraid to talk to me—­I want to see him—­send for him at once.  I said at once—­do you hear!  Now go.”

As Leila turned to leave, she heard a knock at the door, said “Come in,” and to her relief saw enter large and smiling the trusted doctor.  As he neared the bed, Ann fell back speechless and rigid.

“Ah, Leila!  That makes it all plain.  There is no danger.  Close the blinds; I want the room darkened.  So!  Come into the back room—­leave the door ajar.”  He selected a trustworthy chair and sat down with deliberate care.  “Now listen to me, my dear.  This is pure hysteria.  It may last for days or weeks—­it will get well.  It is the natural result of birth, education, worry, etc.—­and a lot of darned et ceteras.  When you let loose a mob of emotions, you get into trouble—­they smash things, and this is what has become of one of God’s sweetest, purest souls.”

“It is most dreadful, Doctor; but what shall we do with Uncle Jim.  If she has a mere cold in the head, he is troubled.”

“Yes—­yes.”  The doctor took counsel with himself.  “I will send up old Mrs. Lamb to help you—­she is wise in the ways of sick women.  Take your rides—­and don’t fret over this suicide of reason.”  He was pleased with his phrase.  “Let her see Penhallow if she asks for him, but not if you can help it.  It is all as plain as day.  She has been living of late a life of unwholesome suppression.  She has been alarmed by Penhallow’s looks, hurt by her brothers’ quarrels, and heart-sick about the war and John.  Then your uncle springs on her this contract business and there is an explosion.”

After giving careful orders, he went away.  To Penhallow he said, “When you are at home keep out of her room.  If you have to see her, tell her nothing has been done or will be for months.  The time will come when you will have to discuss matters.”