"Get her undressed and into bed," he said. "I'm going for a doctor."
"You—you will come back, Yorke?" Finetta managed to say.
"Of course," he said. "Keep up your heart, Fin. You'll be all right."
He got the doctor, and while he was upstairs making his examination Yorke paced up and down the sumptuous dining-room in which he had spent so many pleasant, merry hours.
It seemed an age before the doctor came down.
"Well?" asked Yorke anxiously.
The doctor looked down with the professional gravity.
"She is very badly hurt," he said. "Oh, no," he added, seeing Yorke start and wince. "I don't say that it will kill her, but—you see she struck the edge of the trap with her back. I think I should like to have Sir Andrew."
"Yes, yes!" said Yorke. "I will send for him at once——."
"Oh, to-morrow will do, my lord," said the doctor. "He could do no more for her than I can accomplish, and she is—unfortunately—in very little pain. But there seems to be something on her mind, something in which your lordship is concerned, and she is very anxious to see you."