With every word the woman uttered, Emily’s perplexity and distress increased. “You told me my aunt’s illness was fever,” she said--“and now you speak of some complaint in her eyes. Stand out of the way, if you please, and let me go to her.” Mrs. Ellmother, still keeping her place, looked through the open door. “Here’s the doctor,” she announced. “It seems I can’t satisfy you; ask him what’s the matter. Come in, doctor.” She threw open the door of the parlor, and introduced Emily. “This is the mistress’s niece, sir. Please try if _you_ can keep her quiet. I can’t.” She placed chairs with the hospitable politeness of the old school--and returned to her post at Miss Letitia’s bedside. Doctor Allday was an elderly man, with a cool manner and a ruddy complexion--thoroughly acclimatized to the atmosphere of pain and grief in which it was his destiny to live. He spoke to Emily (without any undue familiarity) as if he had been accustomed to see her for the greater part of her life. “That’s a curious woman,” he said, when Mrs. Ellmother closed the door; “the most headstrong person, I think, I ever met with. But devoted to her mistress, and, making allowance for her awkwardness, not a bad nurse. I am afraid I can’t give you an encouraging report of your aunt. The rheumatic fever (aggravated by the situation of this house--built on clay, you know, and close to stagnant water) has been latterly complicated by delirium.” “Is that a bad sign, sir?” “The worst possible sign; it shows that the disease has affected the heart. Yes: she is suffering from inflammation of the eyes, but that is an unimportant symptom. We can keep the pain under by means of cooling lotions and a dark room. I’ve often heard her speak of you--especially since the illness assumed a serious character. What did you say? Will she know you, when you go into her room? This is about the time when the delirium usually sets in. I’ll see if there’s a quiet interval.” He opened the door--and came back again. “By the way,” he resumed, “I ought perhaps to explain how it was that I took the liberty of sending you that telegram. Mrs. Ellmother refused to inform you of her mistress’s serious illness. That circumstance, according to my view of it, laid the responsibility on the doctor’s shoulders. The form taken by your aunt’s delirium--I mean the apparent tendency of the words that escape her in that state--seems to excite some incomprehensible feeling in the mind of her crabbed servant. She wouldn’t even let _me_ go into the bedroom, if she could possibly help it. Did Mrs. Ellmother give you a warm welcome when you came here?” “Far from it. My arrival seemed to annoy her.”