Agatha knew her manager’s pertinacity when once on the track of an object.  Moreover, the humor of the situation passed from her mind, leaving only a vivid impression of the trouble and worry which were sure to follow such a serious breaking up of well established plans.  She was rarely capricious, even under vexation, but she yielded to a caprice at this moment, and one, moreover, that was very unjust toward her much-tried manager.  The thought of that man bursting in upon her in the home that had been the fastidious Hercules Thayer’s, in the midst of her anxiety and sorrow over James Hambleton, was intolerable.

“If Mr. Straker should by any chance follow me here, you must tell him that I can not see him,” she said, and departed, leaving Lizzie wrapped in righteous indignation.

“Well, I never!” she exclaimed, after her mistress had disappeared.  “Can’t see him, after coming all this way!  And into a country like this, too, where there’s only one bath-tub, and you fill that from a pump in the yard!”

CHAPTER XVI

A FIGHTING CHANCE

The dining-room of the old red house was cool, and fragrant from the blossoming heliotrope bed below its window.  The twilight, which is long in eastern Maine, shed a soft glow over the old mahogany and silver, and an equally soft and becoming radiance over the two women seated at the table.  After a sonorous blessing, uttered by Mrs. Stoddard in tones full of unction, she and Agatha ate supper in a sympathetic silence.  It was a meal upon which Sallie Kingsbury expended her best powers as cook, with no mean results; but nobody took much notice of it, after all.  Mrs. Stoddard poured her tea into her saucer, drinking and eating absent-mindedly.  Her face lighted with something very like a smile whenever she caught Agatha’s eyes, but to her talk was not necessary.  Sallie hovered around the door, even though Lizzie had condescended to put on a white apron and serve.  But Agatha sent the city maid away, bidding her wait on the people in the sick-room instead.

Mr. Hand had been left with the patient and had acquiesced in the plan to stay on duty until midnight, when Mrs. Stoddard was to be called.  Agatha had spent an hour with James, helping Mrs. Stoddard, or watching the patient while the nurse made many necessary trips to the kitchen.  The sight of James’s woeful plight drove every thought from her mind.  Engagements and managers lost their reality, and became shadow memories beside the vividness of his desperate need.  He had no knowledge of her, or of any efforts to secure his comfort.  He talked incessantly, sometimes in a soft, unintelligible murmur, sometimes in loud and emphatic tones.  His eyes were brilliant but wandering, his movements were abrupt or violent, heedless or feeble, as the moment decreed.  He talked about the dingy, nasty fo’cas’le, the absurdity of his not being able to get around, the fine outfit of the Sea Gull, the chill of the water.  He sometimes swore softly, almost apologetically, and he uttered most unchristian sentiments toward some person whom he described as wearing extremely neat and dandified clothes.