"Not sick, ma'am--only a little faint."
As her head went heavily down upon the pillow, Mrs. Wykoff saw a
sparkle of tears along the line of her closely shut eyelids.
"Now don't stir from there until I come back," said the kind lady, and
left the room. In a little while she returned, with a small waiter in
her hand, containing a goblet of wine sangaree and a biscuit.
"Take this, Mary. It will do you good."
The eyes which had not been unclosed since Mrs. Wykoff went out, were
all wet as Mary Carson opened them.
"Oh, you are so kind!" There was gratitude in her voice. Rising, she
took the wine, and drank of it like one athirst. Then taking it from
her lips, she sat, as if noting her sensations.
"It seems to put life into me," she said, with a pulse of cheerfulness
in her tones.
"Now eat this biscuit," and Mrs. Wykoff held the waiter near.
The wine drank and the biscuit eaten, a complete change in Miss Carson
was visible. The whiteness around her mouth gave place to a ruddier
tint; her face no longer wore an exhausted air; the glassy lustre of
her eyes was gone.
"I feel like myself again," she said, as she left the sofa, and resumed
her sewing chair.
"How is your side now?" asked Mrs. Wykoff.
"Easier. I scarcely perceive the pain."
"Hadn't you better lie still a while longer?"
"No, ma'am. I am all right now. A weak spell came over me. I didn't
sleep much last night, and that left me exhausted this morning, and
without any appetite."
"What kept you awake?"
"This dull pain in my side for a part of the time. Then I coughed a
good deal; and then I became wakeful and nervous."
"Does this often occur, Mary?"
"Well--yes, ma'am--pretty often of late."
"How often?"
"Two or three times a week."
"Can you trace it to any cause?"
"Not certainly."
"To cold?"
"No, ma'am."
"Fatigue?"
"More that than anything else, I think."
"And you didn't eat any breakfast this morning?"
"I drank a cup of coffee."
"But took no solid food?"
"I couldn't have swallowed it, ma'am."
"And it's now twelve o'clock," said Mrs. Wykoff; drawing out her watch.
"Mary! Mary! This will not do. I don't wonder you were faint just now."
Miss Carson bent to her work and made no answer. Mrs. Wykoff sat
regarding her for some time with a look of human interest, and then
went out.
A little before two o'clock there was a tap at the door, and the waiter
came in, bearing a tray. There was a nicely-cooked chop, toast, and
some tea, with fruit and a custard.
"Mrs. Wykoff said, when she went out, that dinner would be late to-day,
and that you were not well, and mustn't be kept waiting," remarked the
servant, as he drew a small table towards the centre of the room, and
covered it with a white napkin.
He came just in time. The stimulating effect of the wine had subsided,
and Miss Carson was beginning to grow faint again, for lack of food.
It was after three o'clock when Mrs. Wykoff came home, and half past
three before the regular dinner for the family was served. She looked
in, a moment, upon the seamstress, saying as she did so--
"You've had your dinner, Mary?"
"Oh yes, ma'am, and I'm much obliged," answered Miss Carson, a bright
smile playing over her face. The timely meal had put new life into her.
"I knew you couldn't wait until we were ready," said the kind-hearted,
thoughtful woman, "and so told Ellen to cook you a chop, and make you a
cup of tea. Did you have enough?"
"Oh yes, ma'am. More than enough."
"You feel better than you did this morning?"
"A great deal better, I'm like another person."
"You must never go without food so long again, Mary. It is little
better than suicide for one in your state of health."
Mrs. Wykoff retired, and the seamstress went on with her work.
At the usual hour, Mary Carson appeared on the next morning. Living at
some distance from Mrs. Wykoff's, she did not come until after
breakfast. The excellent lady had thought over the incident of the day
before, and was satisfied that, from lack of nutritious food at the
right time, Mary's vital forces were steadily wasting, and that she
would, in a very little while, destroy herself.
"I will talk with her seriously about this matter," she said. "A word
of admonition may save her."
"You look a great deal better this morning," she remarked, as she
entered the room where Mary was sewing.
"I haven't felt better for a long time," was the cheerful answer.
"Did you sleep well last night?"
"Very well."
"Any cough?"
"Not of any consequence, ma'am."
"How was the pain in your side?"
"It troubled me a little when I first went to bed, but soon passed off."
"Did you feel the old exhaustion on waking?"
"I always feel weak in the morning; but it was nothing, this morning,
to what it has been."
"How was your appetite?"
"Better. I eat an egg and a piece of toast, and they tasted good.
Usually my stomach loathes food in the morning."
"Has this been the case long?"
"For a long time, ma'am."