thing! Come quick, or you'll certainly perish!' She flies from the
portiere to the fire burning on the hearth, pokes it, flings on a
log, jumps back, brushes from her dress with a light shriek the
sparks driven out upon it, and continues talking incessantly in a
voice lifted for her husband to hear in the anteroom. 'If I'd
dreamed it was any such storm as this, I should never have let you
go out in it in the world. It wasn't at all necessary to have the
flowers. I could have got on perfectly well, and I believe NOW the
table would look better without them. The chrysanthemums would have
been quite enough; and I know you've taken more cold. I could tell
it by your voice as soon as you spoke; and just as quick as they're
gone to-night I'm going to have you bathe your feet in mustard and
hot water, and take eight of aconite, and go straight to bed. And I
don't want you to eat very much at dinner, dear, and you must be
sure not to drink any coffee, or the aconite won't be of the least
use.' She turns and encounters her husband, who enters through the
portiere, his face pale, his eyes wild, his white necktie pulled out
of knot, and his shirt front rumpled. 'Why, Edward, what in the
world is the matter? What has happened?'

ROBERTS, sinking into a chair: 'Get me a glass of water, Agnes--
wine--whisky--brandy--'

MRS. ROBERTS, bustling wildly about: 'Yes, yes. But what--Bella!
Bridget! Maggy!--Oh, I'll go for it myself, and I WON'T stop to
listen! Only--only don't die!' While Roberts remains with his eyes
shut, and his head sunk on his breast in token of extreme
exhaustion, she disappears and reappears through the door leading to
her chamber, and then through the portiere cutting off the dining-
room. She finally descends upon her husband with a flagon of