The third day Henry was expected home, but he did not arrive and
the last train from the city had come.
"I call it pretty queer work," said Mrs. Brigham. "The idea of a
doctor leaving his patients for three days anyhow, at such a time
as this, and I know he has some very sick ones; he said so. And
the idea of a consultation lasting three days! There is no sense
in it, and NOW he has not come. I don't understand it, for my
part."
"I don't either," said Rebecca.
They were all in the south parlour. There was no light in the
study opposite, and the door was ajar.
Presently Mrs. Brigham rose--she could not have told why; something
seemed to impel her, some will outside her own. She went out of
the room, again wrapping her rustling skirts around that she might
pass noiselessly, and began pushing at the swollen door of the
study.
"She has not got any lamp," said Rebecca in a shaking voice.
Caroline, who was writing letters, rose again, took a lamp (there
were two in the room) and followed her sister. Rebecca had risen,
but she stood trembling, not venturing to follow.
The doorbell rang, but the others did not hear it; it was on the
south door on the other side of the house from the study.
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