"Oh, bring her to! bring her to! and I won't say another word," she pleaded, looking piteously at the widow.
"I am not omnipotent, poor child!" was the sweet reply. "But see! I think there is a movement of her eyelids."
Lottie rose from her knees and looked eagerly in that worn face. "Yes, yes, she is alive; she is coming to herself. Oh, my mistress! my mistress! I will never, never leave you again. I'll sleep on the floor at the foot of your bed, like a dog, before anybody reaches you!"
Tears rained down poor Lottie's face, and her voice was so full of grief that no one had the heart to chide her, though it seemed to disturb the invalid, who was slowly recovering consciousness.
Mrs. Lee at last opened her eyes, and looked vaguely around at the people near her bed, without seeming to recognize them; when Lottie caught her vacant gaze, she burst forth,—
"Oh, ma'am, don't you know me? It's Lottie—it's Lottie!"
This pathetic cry gained no response. Those dreamy eyes wandered from face to face, with a helpless, appealing look indescribably touching. Jessie bent over her mother, striving to make herself known; but her sweet voice passed unheeded. Every kind effort failed to draw her from this dull state of half-consciousness, till Mr. Lee passed his arm under her head and drew it to his bosom. Then a thrill seemed to pass through her whole frame, a smile dawned on her pale mouth.
"Have I been ill?" she murmured, resting her head against the bosom to which he gently lifted her,—"very ill, that you all come here in the night?"
"Yes," answered Mr. Lee, very tenderly; for he seemed to forget everything in her danger. "But for our kind guest, I fear it might have gone hard with you."
Lottie, who was crouching at her mistress' feet, with her face buried in the bed-clothes, uttered a sudden, "Oh! oh! I can't bear it!" and, starting up, rushed into her room, looking at Mrs. Dennison over her shoulders like a wild cat.