“I—I didn’t know it was so late,” said Emily confusedly. “I—my head aches, Aunt Elizabeth.”
Aunt Elizabeth rolled up the white cotton blind and looked at Emily. She noted her flushed face—she felt her pulse. Then she bade her shortly to stay where she was, went down, and sent Perry for Dr. Burnley.
“Probably she’s got the measles,” said the doctor as gruffly as usual. Emily was not yet sick enough to be gentle over. “There’s an outbreak of them at Derry Pond. Has she had any chance to catch them?”
“Jimmy Joe Belle’s two children were here one afternoon about ten days ago. She played with them—she’s always playing round with people she’s no business to associate with. I haven’t heard that they were or have been sick though.”
Jimmy Joe Belle, when asked plainly, confessed that his “young ones” had come out with measles the very day after they had been at New Moon. There was therefore not much doubt as to Emily’s malady.
“It’s a bad kind of measles apparently,” the doctor said. “Quite a number of the Derry Pond children have died of it. Mostly French though—the kids would be out of bed when they had no business to be and caught cold. I don’t think you need worry about Emily. She might as well have measles and be done with it. Keep her warm and keep the room dark. I’ll run over in the morning.”
For three or four days nobody was much alarmed. Measles was a disease everybody had to have. Aunt Elizabeth looked after Emily well and slept on a sofa which had been moved into the lookout. She even left the window open at night. In spite of this—perhaps Aunt Elizabeth thought because of it—Emily grew steadily sicker, and on the fifth day a sharp change for the worse took place. Her fever went up rapidly, delirium set in; Dr. Burnley came, looked anxious, scowled, changed the medicine.
“I’m sent for to a bad case of pneumonia at White Cross,” he said, “and I have to go to Charlottetown in the morning to be present at Mrs. Jackwell’s operation. I promised her I would go. I’ll be back in the evening. Emily is very restless—that high-strung system of hers is evidently very sensitive to fever. What’s that nonsense she’s talking about the Wind Woman?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” said Aunt Elizabeth worriedly. “She’s always talking nonsense like that, even when she’s well. Allan, tell me plainly—is there any danger?”
“There’s always danger in this type of measles. I don’t like these symptoms—the eruption should be out by now and there’s no sign of it. Her fever is very high—but I don’t think we need be alarmed yet. If I thought otherwise I wouldn’t go to town. Keep her as quiet as possible—humour her whims if you can—I don’t like that mental disturbance. She looks terribly distressed—seems to be worrying over something. Has she had anything on her mind of late?”
“Not that I know of,” said Aunt Elizabeth. She had a sudden bitter realisation that she really did not know much about the child’s mind. Emily would never have come to her with any of her little troubles and worries.
“Emily, what is bothering you?” asked Dr. Burnley softly—very softly. He took the hot, tossing, little hand gently, oh, so gently, in his big one.
Emily looked up with wild, fever-bright eyes.
“She couldn’t have done it—she couldn’t have done it.”
“Of course she couldn’t,” said the doctor cheerily. “Don’t worry—she didn’t do it.”
His eyes telegraphed, “What does she mean?” to Elizabeth, but Elizabeth shook her head.
“Who are you talking about—dear?” she asked Emily. It was the first time she had called Emily “dear.”
But Emily was off on another tack. The well in Mr. Lee’s field was open, she declared. Someone would be sure to fall into it. Why didn’t Mr. Lee shut it up? Dr. Burnley left Aunt Elizabeth trying to reassure Emily on that point and hurried away to White Cross.
At the door he nearly fell over Perry who was curled up on the sandstone slab, hugging his sunburned legs desperately. “How is Emily?” he demanded, grasping the skirt of the doctor’s coat.
“Don’t bother me—I’m in a hurry,” growled the doctor.
“You tell me how Emily is or I’ll hang on to your coat till the seams go,” said Perry stubbornly. “I can’t get one word of sense out of them old maids. You tell me.”
“She’s a sick child but I’m not seriously alarmed about her yet.” The doctor gave his coat another tug—but Perry held on for a last word.
“You’ve got to cure her,” he said. “If anything happens to Emily I’ll drown myself in the pond—mind that.”
He let go so suddenly that Dr. Burnley nearly went headlong on the ground. Then Perry curled up on the doorstep again. He watched there until Laura and Cousin Jimmy had gone to bed and then he sneaked through the house and sat on the stairs, where he could hear any sound in Emily’s room. He sat there all night, with his fists clenched, as if keeping guard against an unseen foe.
Elizabeth Murray watched by Emily until two o’clock, and then Laura took her place.
“She has raved a great deal,” said Aunt Elizabeth. “I wish I knew what is worrying her—there is something, I feel sure. It isn’t all mere delirium. She keeps repeating ’She couldn’t have done it’ in such imploring tones. I wonder oh, Laura, you remember the time I read her letters? Do you think she means me?”
Laura shook her head. She had never seen Elizabeth so moved.
“If the child—doesn’t get—better—” said Aunt Elizabeth. She said no more but went quickly out of the room.
Laura sat down by the bed. She was pale and drawn with her own worry and fatigue—for she had not been able to sleep. She loved
