"Are you ill?"
The tired woman opened her eyes slowly.
"I think I fainted, dear love," she said. "Perhaps it was the heat of
the sun."
Priscilla managed to get her back into the house. She grew better
presently and seemed something like herself, but that evening the aunt
and niece had a long talk, and the next day Prissie went up to see Mr.
Hayes.
"I am interested," he said when he saw her enter the room, "to see how
you have construed that passage in Cicero, Priscilla. You know I
warned you of its difficulty."
"Oh, please, sir, don't," said Prissie, holding up her hand with an
impatient movement, which she now and then found herself indulging in.
"I don't care if Cicero is at the bottom of the sea. I don't want to
speak about him or think about him. His day is over, mine is-- oh,
sir, I beg your pardon."
"Granted, my dear child. Sit down, Prissie. I will forgive your
profane words about Cicero, for I see you are excited. What is the
matter?"
"I want you to help me, Mr. Hayes. Will you help me? You have always
been my dear friend, my good friend."
"Of course I will help you. What is wrong? Speak to me fully."
"Aunt Raby fainted in the hayfield yesterday."
"Indeed? It was a warm day; I am truly concerned.
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