“I know he thought I was very bad,” whimpered Mrs. Maynard, for a beginning.  “What is the matter with me?”

“Your cold has taken an acute form; you will have to go to bed.”

“Then I ’m going to be down sick!  I knew I was!  I knew it!  And what am I going to do, off in such a place as this?  No one to nurse me, or look after Bella!  I should think you would be satisfied now, Grace, with the result of your conscientiousness:  you were so very sure that Mr. Libby was wanting to flirt with me that you drove us to our death, because you thought he felt guilty and was trying to fib out of it.”

“Will you let me help to undress you?” asked Grace gently.  “Bella shall be well taken care of, and I am going to nurse you myself, under Dr. Mulbridge’s direction.  And once for all, Louise, I wish to say that I hold myself to blame for all”—­

“Oh, yes!  Much good that does now!” Being got into bed, with the sheet smoothed under her chin, she said, with the effect of drawing a strictly logical conclusion from the premises, “Well, I should think George Maynard would want to be with his family!”

Spent with this ordeal, Grace left her at last, and went out on the piazza, where she found Libby returned.  In fact, he had, upon second thoughts, driven back, and put up his horse at Jocelyn’s, that he might be of service there in case he were needed.  The ladies, with whom he had been making friends, discreetly left him to Grace, when she appeared, and she frankly walked apart with him, and asked him if he could go over to New Leyden, and telegraph to Mr. Maynard.

“Has she asked for him?” he inquired, laughing.  “I knew it would come to that.”

“She has not asked; she has said that she thought he ought to be with his family,” repeated Grace faithfully.

“Oh, I know how she said it:  as if he had gone away wilfully, and kept away against her wishes and all the claims of honor and duty.  It wouldn’t take her long to get round to that if she thought she was very sick.  Is she so bad?” he inquired, with light scepticism.

“She’s threatened with pneumonia.  We can’t tell how bad she may be.”

“Why, of course I’ll telegraph.  But I don’t think anything serious can be the matter with Mrs. Maynard.”

“Dr. Mulbridge said that Mr. Maynard ought to know.”

“Is that so?” asked Libby, in quite a different tone.  If she recognized the difference, she was meekly far from resenting it; he, however, must have wished to repair his blunder.  “I think you need n’t have given up the case to him.  I think you’re too conscientious about it.”

“Please don’t speak of that now,” she interposed.

“Well, I won’t,” he consented.  “Can I be of any use here to-night?”

“No, we shall need nothing more.  The doctor will be here again in the morning.”

“Libby did not come in the morning till after the doctor had gone, and then he explained that he had waited to hear in reply to his telegram, so that they might tell Mrs. Maynard her husband had started; and he had only just now heard.