“Shall I call Ellen?  Shall I call Letty?” he kept crying, shifting from one foot to another in a frightened and fussy way that exasperated me almost beyond endurance.  “She doesn’t breathe; she is white, white!  Oh, what will the mayor say?  I will call Letty.”

But I managed to keep him under control and finally succeeded in restoring Mrs. Packard—­a double task demanding not a little self-control and discretion.  When the flutter of her eyelids showed that she would soon be conscious, I pointed out these signs of life to my uneasy companion and hinted very broadly that the fewer people Mrs. Packard found about her on coming to herself, the better she would be pleased.  His aspect grew quite ferocious at this, and for a moment I almost feared him; but as I continued to urge the necessity of avoiding any fresh cause of agitation in one so weak, he gradually shrank back from my side where he had kept a jealous watch until now, and reluctantly withdrew into the hall.

Another moment and Mrs. Packard had started to rise; but, on seeing me and me only standing before her, she fell wearily back, crying in a subdued way, which nevertheless was very intense: 

“Don’t, don’t let him come in—­see me—­or know.  I must be by myself; I must be!  Don’t you see that I am frightened?”

The words came out with such force I was startled.  Leaning over her, with the natural sympathy her condition called for, I asked quietly but firmly: 

“Whom do you mean by him?  There is only one person in the hall, and that is your butler.”

“Hasn’t Mr. Packard returned?”

“No, Madam.”

“But I thought I saw him looking at me.”

Her eyes were wild, her body shaking with irrepressible agitation.

“You were mistaken.  Mayor Packard has not yet come home.”

At this double assurance, she sank back satisfied, but still trembling and very white.

“It is Mr. Packard I meant,” she whispered presently.  “Stay with me and, when he comes in, tell him what will keep him from looking in or speaking to me.  Promise!” She was growing wild again.  “Promise, if you would be of any use to me.”

“I do promise.”  At which I felt her hand grasp mine with grateful pressure.  “Don’t you wish some assistance from me?  Your dress—­I tried to loosen it, but failed to find the end of the cord.  Shall I try again?”

“No, no; that is, I will do it myself.”

I did not see how she could, for her waist was laced up the back, but I saw that she was too eager to have me go to remember this, and recognizing the undesirability of irritating her afresh, I simply asked if she wished me to remain within call.

But even this was more than she wanted.

“No.  I am better now.  I shall be better yet when quite alone.”  Then suddenly:  “Who knows of this—­this folly of mine?”

“Only Nixon and myself.  The girls have gone to bed.”