"'Deed, massa, Ise glad you come," said she in a troubled way.
"Why so, Aunty? No body very sick, I hope."
"'Deed, an dar is den; else old Aunty don't know nothin'."
"Who?"
"Why dat blessed young lady what drapped in among us, as if she'd
come right down from Heaven. I was jest a gwine to run down an' ax
you to come and see her right away."
I did not linger to talk with "Aunty," but went forward to the
house. The mother of Blanche met me at the door. She looked very
anxious.
"How is your daughter now?" I asked.
"Not so well as when you saw her this morning," she answered. Her
voice trembled.
"I would have called earlier, but have been visiting a patient
several miles away."
"She has been lying in a kind of stupor ever since you were here.
What can it mean, Doctor?"
The mother looked intently in my face, and paused for an answer,
with her lips apart. But I knew as little as she what it meant. Ah!
how often do anxious friends question us, and hearken eagerly for
our replies, when the signs of disease are yet too indefinite for
any clear diagnosis!
"I can tell better after seeing your daughter," said I.
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