them down in the right place. Her throat seemed to be closing
up--and her side--and her head....

Someone had her by the arm. Then someone was speaking her name;
speaking it in surprise--consternation--alarm.

It was Harold.

It was all vague then. She knew that she was in a carriage, and that
Harold was talking to her kindly. "You're taking me there?" she
murmured.

"Yes--yes, Edna, everything's all right," he replied soothingly.

"Everything's all right," she repeated, in a whisper, and leaned her
head back against the cushions.

They stopped after a while, and Harold was standing at the open door
of the cab with something steaming hot which he told her to drink.
"You need it," he said decisively, and thinking it would help her to
tell it, she drank it down.

The world was a little more defined after that, and she saw things
which puzzled her. "Why, it looks like the city," she whispered, her
throat too sore now to speak aloud.

"Why sure," he replied banteringly; "don't you know we have to go
through the city to get out to the South Side?"

"Oh, but you see," she cried, holding her throat, "but you see, it's