CHAPTER XXXVIII
MR. HARDIE found his daughter lying ashy pale on a little bed in the drawing-room of Albion Villa. She was now scarce conscious. The old doctor sat at her head looking very grave; and Julia kneeled over her beloved friend, pale as herself; with hands clasped convulsively, and great eyes of terror and grief.
That vivid young face, full of foreboding and woe, struck Mr. Hardie the moment he entered, and froze his very heart. The strong man quivered and sank slowly like a felled tree by the bedside; and his face and the poor girl's, whose earthly happiness he had coldly destroyed, nearly met over his crushed daughter.
“Jane, my child,” he gasped; “my poor little Jane!”
“Oh let me sleep,” she moaned feebly.
“Darling, it's your own papa,” said Julia softly.
“Poor papa!” said she, turning rather to Julia than to him. “Let me sleep.”
She was in a half lethargic state.
Mr. Hardie asked the doctor in an agitated whisper if he might move her home. The doctor shook his head: “Not by my advice; her pulse is scarce perceptible. We must not move her nor excite her, nor yet let her sink into lethargy. She is in great danger, very great.”
At these terrible words Mr. Hardie groaned: and they all began to speak below the breath.