mile in a bushel, Mis' Starlin'? So I was jest a
tellin' Diany"--

"Where's the minister?"

"Most likely he's where she is--up-stairs. He won't let nobody else do
a hand's turn for her. He takes up every cup of tea, and he spreads
every bit of bread and butter; and he tastes the broths; you'd think he
was anythin' in the world but a minister; he tastes the broth, and he
calls for the salt and pepper, and he stirs and he tastes; and
then--you never see a man make such a fuss, leastways _I_ never
did--he'll have a white napkin and spread over a tray, and the cup on
it, and saucer too, for he won't have the cup 'thout the saucer, and
then carry it off.--Was your husband like that, Mis' Starling? He was a
minister, I've heerd tell."

Mrs. Starling turned short about without answering and went up-stairs.

She found the minister there, as Miss Collins had opined she would; but
she paid little attention to him. He was just drawing the curtains over
a window where the sunlight came in too glaringly. As he had done this,
and turned, he was a spectator of the meeting between mother and child.
It was peculiar. Mrs. Starling advanced to the foot of the bed, came no
nearer, but stood there looking down at her daughter. And Diana's eyes
fastened on hers with a look of calm, cold intelligence. It was intense
enough, yet there was no passion in it; I suppose there was too much
despair; however, it was, as I said, keen and intent, and it held Mrs.
Starling's eye, like a vice. Those Mr. Masters could not see; the
lady's back was towards him; but he saw how Diana's eyes pinioned her,
and how strangely still Mrs. Starling stood.

"What's the matter with you?" she said harshly at last.

"You ought to know,"--said Diana, not moving her eyes.

"I ain't a conjuror," Mrs. Starling returned with a sort of snort.
"What makes you look at me like that?"

Diana gave a short, sharp laugh. "How can you look at me?" she said. "I
know all about it, mother."

Mrs. Starling with a sudden determination went round to the head of the
bed and put out her hand to feel Diana's pulse. Diana shrank away from
her.

"Keep off!" she cried. "Basil, Basil, don't let her touch me."

"She is out of her head," said Mrs. Starling, turning to her
son-in-law, and speaking half loud. "I had better stay and sit up with
her."

"No," cried Diana. "I don't want you. Basil, don't let her stay. Basil,
Basil!"--

The cry was urgent and pitiful. Her husband came ne