It was incomprehensible!
"Give me the panada," I said, grimly; "I am half starved, and must grow
strong again to do my work. I am not nearly so weak as I usually am,
though, after one of my seizures."
"You see you are outgrowing them, as Dr. Pemberton predicted you would.
I declare, you _are_ hungry, poor child; you have not left a
drop--pint-bowl too--with a gill of wine in it. Not going to get up,
Miss Miriam? Oh, no; you must not venture to do that yet."
And she tried gently to restrain me.
"Yes, I must get about again; I have much to do, and Evelyn must aid me,
if able. Is she ill or only nervous?"
"Very ill, I think; she wrote a note to Dr. Craig and sent it last
night, after you went to sleep; but he did not come."
"Quite naturally, since he had been absent some weeks. I could have told
her," I said, sententiously; "indeed, I thought she knew it. Who carried
her note?"
"Morton."
"Poor old man! The idea of sending him on such a wild-goose chase, after
night. Papa would turn in his grave could he know he had been forced out
in the rain at such an hour, for a woman's whim. I would have suffered
tortures till morning first. Where was Franklin?"
"Franklin had gone home earlier than usual, and did not return to-day.
He is sick with a chill, we hear, and his wife is again ill."
"Who did the marketing?"
"Morton.
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