“Where is he?”
“On the bed in his dressing-room,” said Harry.
“Has he come to himself—is he better?”
They did not seem to know, and Ethel asked where to find Flora. “With Margaret,” she was told, and she was thinking whether she could venture to seek her, when she herself came fast up the stairs. Ethel and Harry both darted out. “Don’t stop me,” said Flora—“they want some handkerchiefs.”
“What, is not she in her own room?”
“No,” said Harry, “in mamma’s;” and then his face quivered all over, and he turned away. Ethel ran after her sister, and pulling out drawers without knowing what she sought, begged to hear how papa and Margaret were.
“We can’t judge of Margaret—she has moved, and made a little moaning—there are no limbs broken, but we are afraid for her head. Oh! if papa could but—”
“And papa?”
“Mr. Ward is with him now—his arm is terribly hurt.”
“But oh! Flora—one moment—is he sensible?”