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“The Baroness?”

“Yass, sih, de–de outlayndish la-ady–“

Senda had sent word that the child had only an indigestion–a thing serious enough in such a case–and though still slightly feverish was now asleep, but restless.

“Sih? Yass, sir–awnressless–dass ‘zac’ly what I say!”

Wherefore Senda would either remain in the nursery or return to us, as we should elect.

“O no, sih, she no need to come back right now, anyhow; yass, sih, dass what de Mis’ say, too.”

“Then you’ll stay here,” I whispered.

“Yass, sih, ef de Lawd wil’–I mean ef you wants me, sih–yass, sih, thaynk you, sih. I loves to tend on Mis’ Fontenette, she got sich a bu’ful fa aith, same like she say I got. Yass, sih, I dess loves to set an’ watch her–wid dat sweet samtimonious fa-ace.”

Fontenette being still asleep I gave her my place for a moment, and went to the door between the parlor and his wife’s room. Mrs. Smith came to it, barely breathing the triumphant word–“Just dropped asleep!”

When I replied that I would take a little fresh air at the front door she asked if at my leisure I would empty and bring in from the window-sill, around on the garden side of her patient’s room a saucer containing the over-sweetened remains of some orange-leaf tea, that “D.V.” had made “for to wrench out de nerves.” She wanted the saucer.

I went outside a step or two and took in a long draught of good air–the air of a yellow-fever room is dreadful. It was my first breath of mental relief also; almost the first that night, and the last.

I paced once or twice the short narrow walk between the front flower-beds, surprised at their well-kept and blooming condition until I remembered Senda. The moths were out in strong numbers, and it was delightful to forget graver things for a moment and see the flowers bend coyly under their passionate kisses and blushingly rise again when the sweet robbery was finished. So it happened that I came where a glance across to my own garden showed me, on the side farthest from the nursery, a favorite bush, made pale by a light that could come only from the entomologist’s window! I went in promptly, told what I proposed to do, and hurried out again.

XIX

I crossed into my garden and silently mounted the balcony stairs I have mentioned once before. His balcony door was ajar. His room was empty. He had occupied the bed. A happy thought struck me–to feel the spot where he had lain; it was still warm. Good! But his clothes were all gone except his shoes, and they, you remember, were no proof that he was indoors.

I stole down into the garden once more, and looked hurriedly in several directions, but saw no sign of him. I am not a ferocious man even when alone, but as I came near the fence of our fat neighbor–once fat, poor fellow, and destined to be so again in time–and still saw no one, I was made conscious of waving my fist and muttering through my gritting teeth, by hearing my name softly called. It was an unfamiliar female voice that spoke, from a window beyond the fence, and it flashed on my remembrance that two kinswomen of my neighbor were watching with his wife, whose case was giving new cause for anxiety. It was Mrs. Soandso, the voice explained, and could I possibly come in there a moment?–if only to the window!

“Is our friend the Baron over here?” I asked, as I came to it. He was not. “Well, never mind,” I said; “how is your patient?”

“Oh that’s just what we wish we knew. In some ways she seems better, but she’s more unquiet. She’s had some slight nausea and it seems to increase. Do you think that is important?”

“Yes,” I said, “very. I hear some one cracking ice; you are keeping ice on her throat–no? Well, begin it at once, and persuade her to lie on her back as quietly as she can, and get her to sleep if possible! Doctor–no; he wouldn’t come before morning, anyhow; but I’ll send Mrs. Smith right over to you, if she possibly can come.”