In fact , Phoebe Greene says they have very poor hopes of him . He was kind of ailing all the spring , it seems , and about a month ago he was took down with some kind of slow fever they have out there . Phoebe says they have a hired nurse from the nearest town and a good doctor , but she reckons he wo n't get over it . That fever goes awful hard with a man of his years . '' Cecilia Merritt , who was the fastest talker in Heatherton , had got this out before she was brought up by a queer sound , half gasp , half cry , from Theodosia . The latter looked as if someone had struck her a physical blow . `` Mercy , Dosia , you ai n't going to faint ! I did n't suppose you 'd care . You never seemed to care . '' `` Did you say , '' asked Theodosia thickly , `` that Wesley was sick -- dying ? '' `` Well , that 's what Phoebe said . She may be mistaken . Dosia Brooke , you 're a queer woman . I never could make you out and I never expect to . I guess only the Lord who made you can translate you . '' Theodosia stood up . The sun was getting low , and the valley beneath them , ripening to harvest , was like a river of gold . She folded up her sewing with a steady hand . `` It 's five o'clock , so I 'll ask you to excuse me , Cecilia . I have a good deal to attend to .
You can ask Emory if he 'll drive me to the station XXXXX the morning .
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