He looked at her with absent eyes. "No; I'll see to it. Do start,
Martha, and maybe that will hurry them off!"
Mrs. King drew back, affronted. "Oh, very well," She said; and made
her cold adieux.
But Helena Richie was oblivious of Mrs. King's coldness; her anxiety
and dismay had grown into an uncontrollable nervousness, and when at
last, thinking she was alone, she threw up her arms with a gesture of
relief, the sight of William King, coming gravely towards her, made
her break into an angry exclamation. But before she knew it, he had
taken her hand, and was holding it in his kind clasp.
"Mrs. Richie, I am afraid I must give you bad news."
"Bad--news--?"
"A telegram has come," he began, taking the envelope from his pocket;
but she interrupted him, Seizing it with a sort of gasp and tearing it
open. A moment later she stood quite still, looking at the despatch,
then with dilating eyes at the doctor, and again at the despatch. She
pressed her fingers hard against her lips, and he saw that she was
trembling.
"You must sit down," he said gently, and put his big, quiet hand on
her shoulder. She sank under his firm touch into a chair.
"It is not--bad news."
"I am glad of that," William said. "But you are a little pale," he
added smiling.
"It was a shock."
"I am glad it was nothing more."
She spread out the telegram and read it again. She did not seem to
hear him. Dr. King looked at her uneasily. There was certainly no
grief in her face, yet her color did not come back.
"Some one is dead," she said. "Not--a friend." William was silent.
"But it startled me."
"Yes," the doctor said.
"Oh, Dr. King!" she cried violently; and put her hands over her face.
He thought with relief that tears had come. "He was--an enemy," she
said. "He is dead, Mrs. Richie; forgive him."
She did not answer. It was all William King could do not to stroke the
soft hair of the bent head, and say "Don't cry," as if to a child. But
when she lifted her face, her eyes were quite dry; there was a
flashing look in them that broke into breathless, wavering laughter.
"I beg your pardon; it is just the--the shock, you know."
"Yes," the doctor said; "I know." He could not help covering with his
big, warm palm, the shaking hands that were pulling and twisting the
telegram. "There, there! My dear Mrs. Richie--where is that bromide I
gave you for David? I want you to take some."