"Mrs. Morgan," she said, sitting down in the little parlour appropriated to the landlady, for she felt her strength suddenly desert her--"Mrs. Morgan, I'm afraid Mr. Bellingham is very ill;"--here she burst into tears, but instantly checking herself, "Oh, what must I do?" continued she; "I don't think he has known anything all through the night, and he looks so strange and wild this morning."
She gazed up into Mrs. Morgan's face, as if reading an oracle.
"Indeed, miss, ma'am, and it's a very awkward thing. But don't cry, that can do no good; 'deed it can't. I'll go and see the poor young man myself, and then I can judge if a doctor is wanting."