The sick woman had refused to stay in the bedroom after she had come to her senses.  She had insisted that she could not breathe, and that she was cold and must go back to the kitchen.  Her mother and Mrs. Jake had wrapped her in blankets and drawn the high-backed wooden rocking chair close to the stove, and here she was just established when Mrs. Martin opened the outer door.  Any one of less reliable nerves would have betrayed the shock which the sight of such desperate illness must have given.  The pallor, the suffering, the desperate agony of the eyes, were far worse than the calmness of death, but Mrs. Martin spoke cheerfully, and even when her sister whispered that their patient had been attacked by a haemorrhage, she manifested no concern.

“How long has this be’n a-goin’ on, Ad’line?  Why didn’t you come home before and get doctored up?  You’re all run down.”  Mrs. Thacher looked frightened when this questioning began, but turned her face toward her daughter, eager to hear the answer.

“I’ve been sick off and on all summer,” said the young woman, as if it were almost impossible to make the effort of speaking.  “See if the baby’s covered up warm, will you, Aunt ’Liza?”

“Yes, dear,” said the kind-hearted woman, the tears starting to her eyes at the sound of the familiar affectionate fashion of speech which Adeline had used in her childhood.  “Don’t you worry one mite; we’re going to take care of you and the little gal too;” and then nobody spoke, while the only sound was the difficult breathing of the poor creature by the fire.  She seemed like one dying, there was so little life left in her after her piteous homeward journey.  The mother watched her eagerly with a mingled feeling of despair and comfort; it was terrible to have a child return in such sad plight, but it was a blessing to have her safe at home, and to be able to minister to her wants while life lasted.

They all listened eagerly for the sound of wheels, but it seemed a long time before Martin Dyer returned with the doctor.  He had been met just as he was coming in from the other direction, and the two men had only paused while the tired horse was made comfortable, and a sleepy boy dispatched with the medicine for which he had long been waiting.  The doctor’s housekeeper had besought him to wait long enough to eat the supper which she had kept waiting, but he laughed at her and shook his head gravely, as if he already understood that there should be no delay.  When he was fairly inside the Thacher kitchen, the benefaction of his presence was felt by every one.  It was most touching to see the patient’s face lose its worried look, and grow quiet and comfortable as if here were some one on whom she could entirely depend.  The doctor’s greeting was an every-day cheerful response to the women’s welcome, and he stood for a minute warming his hands at the fire as if he had come upon a commonplace errand.  There was something singularly self-reliant and composed about