She went promptly, though so wearied she could scarcely stand, and took a seat by the bed where tossed the poor boy in whom she had taken such an interest.
"You must go home, Miss Huntingdon; you are worn out. His father can watch him till his mother gets stronger," said Dr. Brandon, who was fully acquainted with the unremitting attendance at the next house.
"No, I must stay with Philip; perhaps he will know me when he wakes."
A hope doomed to disappointment, for he raved for four days and nights, calling frantically for the serene, sad woman who sat at his pillow, bending over him and laying her cold hand on his scorched brow. On the fifth day, being free from fever and utterly prostrated, he seemed sinking rapidly; but she kept her fingers on his pulse, and, without waiting for the doctor's advice, administered powerful stimulants. So passed two hours of painful anxiety; then Philip opened his eyes languidly, and looked at her.
"Philip, do you know me?"
"Yes—Miss Irene."
She sank back as if some strong supporting hand had suddenly been withdrawn from her; and observing that she looked ghastly, Mr. Martin hastily brought her a glass of water. Just then Dr. Brandon entered, and examined his patient with evident surprise.
"What have you done to him, Miss Huntingdon?"
"Since daylight I have been giving him ammonia and brandy; his pulse was so feeble and thready, I thought he needed it, and was afraid to wait for you."
"Right! and you saved his life by it. I could not get here any earlier, and if you had delayed it until I came, it would probably have been too late. You may call him your patient after this."