I pushed open the pew door, and, bending down, whispered to her, 'Please come over at once; your husband is more delirious than I quite care about, and you may be able to calm him.' "She whispered back, without raising her head, 'I'll be over in a little while.

The meeting won't last much longer.' "Her answer surprised and nettled me.

'You'll be acting more like a Christian woman by coming home with me,' I said sharply, 'than by stopping here.

He keeps calling for you, and I can't get him to sleep.' "She raised her head from her hands: 'Calling for me ?' she asked, with a slightly incredulous accent.
"'Yes,' I replied, 'it has been his one cry for the last hour: Where's Louise, why doesn't Louise come to him.' "Her face was in shadow, but as she turned it away, and the faint light from one of the turned-down gas-jets fell across it, I fancied I saw a smile upon it, and I disliked her more than ever.
"'I'll come back with you,' she said, rising and putting her books away, and we left the church together.
"She asked me many questions on the way: Did patients, when they were delirious, know the people about them?
Did they remember actual facts, or was their talk mere incoherent rambling?
Could one guide their thoughts in any way?
"The moment we were inside the door, she flung off her bonnet and cloak, and came upstairs quickly and softly.
"She walked to the bedside, and stood looking down at him, but he was quite unconscious of her presence, and continued muttering.

I suggested that she should speak to him, but she said she was sure it would be useless, and drawing a chair back into the shadow, sat down beside him.
"Seeing she was no good to him, I tried to persuade her to go to bed, but she said she would rather stop, and I, being little more than a girl then, and without much authority, let her.