Then she wavered and rolled on the bed again.  George stood looking at her between narrowed eyelids.

“Tactics I use with Mother don’t go with you, old girl,” he said to himself.  “Thing of fire and tow, stubborn as an ox; won’t be pushed a hair’s breadth; old Bates over again —­ alike as two peas.  But I’ll break you, damn you, I’ll break you; only, I want that school.  Lots easier than kneading somebody’s old stiff muscles, while the money is sure.  Oh, I go after the Trustee, all right!”

He revived Kate, and telling her to keep quiet, and not excite herself, he explained that it was a terrible sacrifice to him to put off opening his office any longer; she must forgive him for losing self-control when he thought of it; but for her dear sake he would teach until she was better —­ possibly she would be all right in a few days, and then she could take her work again.  Because she so devoutly hoped it, Kate made that arrangement with the Trustee.  Monday, she lay half starved, yet gagging and ill, while George went to teach her school.  As she contemplated that, she grew sicker than she had been before.  When she suddenly marshalled all the facts she knew of him, she stoutly refused to think of what Nancy Ellen had said; when she reviewed his character and disposition, and thought of him taking charge of the minds of her pupils, Kate suddenly felt she must not allow that to happen, she must not!  Then came another thought, even more personal and terrible, a thought so disconcerting she mercifully lost consciousness again.

She sent for the village doctor, and found no consolation from her talk with him.  She was out of the school; that was settled.  No harpy ever went to its meat with one half the zest Mrs. Holt found in the situation.  With Kate so ill she could not stand on her feet half the time, so ill she could not reply, with no spirit left to appeal to George, what more could be asked?  Mrs. Holt could add to every grievance she formerly had, that of a sick woman in the house for her to wait on.  She could even make vile insinuations to Kate, prostrate and helpless, that she would not have dared otherwise.  She could prepare food that with a touch of salt or sugar where it was not supposed to be, would have sickened a well person.  One day George came in from school and saw a bowl of broth sitting on a chair beside Kate’s bed.

“Can’t you drink it?” he asked.  “Do, if you possibly can,” he urged.  “You’ll get so weak you’ll be helpless.”

“I just can’t,” said Kate.  “Things have such a sickening, sweetish taste, or they are bitter, or sour; not a thing is as it used to be.  I simply can’t!”

A curious look crept over George’s face.  He picked up the bowl and tasted the contents.  Instantly his face went black; he started toward the kitchen.  Kate heard part of what happened, but she never lifted her head.  After a while he came back with more broth and a plate of delicate toast.