"'But when to the altar a victim I go,
Aunt Tabitha'll tell me she never did so.'"
And she swept off from the little stage, in a parting storm of cheers.
In the mean time, Louise had heard nothing from Dr. Brownlee; and she was beginning to grow uneasy, for the time for his reading was at hand, and the play was to follow it almost immediately. She was just resolving to give up all hope, and bring the entertainment to a hasty close, when she saw the doctor come hurrying in at the side door. She turned to Charlie MacGregor, who chanced to be standing near her.
"Will you help me out, Charlie?" she asked. "Go on again, and play—anything, I don't care what, just to give Dr. Brownlee time to get his breath."
"But strikes me they've had about all of me they can stand," demurred Charlie.
"Never mind if they have," said Louise. "There isn't anybody else that can appear, at a minute's warning. Go, please."
The next moment the doctor was by her side.
"Miss Everett, have you any powder?" he asked, laughing a little, as he pointed to a great purplish bruise on the side of his forehead.
"Dr. Brownlee!" she exclaimed in alarm. "What is it? Are you hurt?"
"Hush!" he said, in a low voice, though he was conscious of a quick sense of pleasure at the anxiety of her tone. "It's only a bump; but it doesn't look well, and I don't want it to show. Can't you cover it up somehow, before I go on?"