In the hall she paused and laid her hand upon the library door, but the
Major had bolted her out, and she heard him pacing with restless strides up
and down the room. She listened timidly awhile, then, going softly by, went
up to Mrs. Lightfoot.
The old lady was asleep, but as the girl entered she awoke and sat up, very
straight, in bed. "My pain is much worse, Betty," she complained. "I don't
expect to get a wink of sleep this entire night."
"I thought you were asleep when I came in," answered Betty, keeping away
from the candlelight; "but I am so sorry you are in pain. Shall I make you
a mustard plaster?"
Though she smiled, her voice was spiritless and she moved with an effort.
She felt suddenly very tired, and she wanted to lie down somewhere alone in
the darkness.
"I'd just dropped off when Mr. Lightfoot woke me slamming the doors,"
pursued the old lady, querulously. "Men have so little consideration that
nothing surprises me, but I do think he might be more careful when he knows
I am suffering. No, I won't take the mustard plaster, but you may bring me
a cup of hot milk, if you will. It sometimes sends me off into a doze."
Betty went slowly downstairs again and heated the milk on the dining-room
fire. When it was ready she daintily arranged it upon a tray and carried it
upstairs. "I hope it will do you good," she said gently as she gave it to
the old lady. "You must try to lie quiet--the doctor told you so.
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