What could anything else matter now that those
awful fears had drawn away? She was sobbing quietly to herself. Again his
hand closed over hers.
Then something made her look up, and at the foot of the bed she saw Dr.
Parkman. One look at his face and she grew cold from head to foot; her
throat grew painfully tight; strange things came before her eyes. She
could not move. She simply remained there upon her knees, looking at Dr.
Parkman's face, her own frozen with terror.
The doctor came to her, took her hands, and helped her to rise. Two
nurses and another doctor were bending over Karl--doing something. Dr.
Parkman led Ernestine into an adjoining room.
She did not take her eyes from his face; the appeal, terror, in them
seemed to strike him dumb. It was as though his own throat were closed,
for several times he tried vainly to speak.
"Ernestine," he said at last, "Karl is very sick."
"How--sick?" she managed to whisper.
"How--sick?" she repeated as he stood there looking at her helplessly.
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