“If the Lord wills,” replied Eunice, in a solemn tone; but there was no ring of hopefulness in her tone now, and Bertha turned away wondering, yet did not dare to ask another question.
It was noon before the doctor came. Bill Humphries had put his horses in the barn and was doing such things about the house as Tom would have done in happier circumstances; but Tom himself was lying on the bed in the little room where Bertha slept, in such a state of collapse, that it looked as if they were going to have two invalids to care for instead of one.
A long half-hour the doctor was shut in with Grace, with only Eunice for a helper, and when he came out his face was as grave as that of Eunice had been when the injured woman was undressed. Tom was asleep, too worn out and exhausted to keep awake for the news which was like life or death to him, so there was only Bertha to hear the verdict of the doctor.
“There is some concussion of the brain, but that will probably pass off in a few hours, and Mrs. Ellis will become conscious again,” said the doctor.
Bertha’s face lightened with a flash of radiant hope. “Then do you think that she will soon be better?” she asked, with such bounding relief at her heart that she longed to shout or sing.
“That I cannot say yet,” replied the doctor, and his manner was so very grave that the riotous hope in Bertha’s heart died suddenly.
“What is it that you are afraid of? Tell me quick; I can bear it,” she said sharply; but she turned so very white that the doctor had his doubts about her ability to stand up under any more trouble just then, so he said that he would be glad of a meal if she could get him something to eat, then he would go out and lie on the straw in the barn for a couple of hours, after which he would see Mrs. Ellis again before he went away.
“But why the barn?” asked Bertha; then remembering that Tom was lying asleep in the other room, she said quickly, “I will rouse my cousin; he would not like you to be turned into the barn, I am sure.”
“I should be very angry if you did rouse him,” said the doctor, looking so fierce that Bertha quailed before him. “We have got quite enough trouble to face in this house just now without having Tom Ellis for a patient as well as his wife. It is this sleep that may save him from collapse, but he will need to sleep for hours and hours if it is going to do him any good. I have had to rest in a good many places not half so comfortable as that barn yonder, so you need not worry about me. Only, if I am not back in the house again by three o’clock, I shall be glad if you will come and call me.”
“I will do it, certainly,” she answered; then, plucking up courage, she said timidly, “but will you please tell me what is the matter with Mrs. Ellis? I have got to know sometime, and there is nothing so wearing as suspense.”