Part 15 (1/2)

Several such attempts brought no response, and the valet tried the door. It would not open, so Ferdinand went to Eunice's door and knocked there.

Jumping from her bed, and throwing a kimono round her, Eunice opened her own door.

Ferdinand started at sight of her white face, but recovered himself, and said, ”Mr. Embury, ma'am. He doesn't answer my knock. Can he be ill?”

”Oh, I guess not,” Eunice tried to speak casually, but miserably failed. ”Go through that way.” She pointed to the door between her room and her husband's.

Ferdinand hesitated. ”You open it, Mrs. Embury, please,” he said, and his voice shook.

”Why, Ferdinand, what do you mean? Open that door!”

”Yes, ma'am,” and turning the k.n.o.b, Ferdinand entered.

”Why, he's still asleep!” he exclaimed. ”Shall I wake him?”

”Yes--that is--yes, of course! Wake him up, Ferdinand.”

The door on the other side of Eunice's room opened, and Aunt Abby put her head in.

”What's the matter? What's Ferdinand doing in your room, Eunice? Are you ill?”

”No, Aunt Abby--” but Eunice got no further. She sank back on her bed, and buried her face in the pillows.

”Get up, Mr. Embury--it's late,” Ferdinand was saying, and then he lightly touched the arm of his master.

”He--he--oh, Miss Eunice! Oh, my G.o.d! Why, ma'am--he--he looks to be dead!”

With a shriek, Eunice raised her head a moment and then flung it down on the pillows again, crying, ”I don't believe it! You don't know what you're saying! It can't be so!”

”Yes, I do, ma'am--he's--why, he's cold!”

”Let me come in!” ordered Aunt Abby, as Ferdinand tried to bar her entrance; ”let me see, I tell you! Yes, he is dead! Oh, Eunice--now, Ferdinand, don't lose your head! Go quickly and telephone for Doctor--what's his name? I mean the one in this building--on the ground floor--Harper--that's it--Doctor Harper. Go, man, go!”

Ferdinand went, and Aunt Abby leaned over the silent figure.

”What do you suppose ailed him, Eunice? He was perfectly well, when he went to bed, wasn't he?”

”Yes,” came a m.u.f.fled reply.

”Get up, Eunice; get up, dear. That doctor will be here in a minute.

Brush up your hair, and fasten your kimono. You won't have time to dress. I must put on a cap.”

Aunt Abby flew to her bedroom, and returned quickly, wearing a lace cap Eunice had given her, and talking as she adjusted it.

”It must be a stroke--and yet, people don't have strokes at his age.

It can't be apoplexy--he isn't that build--and, too, he's such an athlete; there's nothing the matter with him. It can't be--oh, mercy gracious! it can't be--Eunice! Sanford wouldn't kill himself, would he?”

”No! no! of course not!”