“My God! has it killed her!” he cried in sudden anguish, looking at her white and clammy face. He lifted her up, he placed her on a couch, he rang the bell wildly for assistance. But May lay like one dead. One arm fell motionless at her side; John grasped her wrist and could feel no pulsation. Again he rang madly at the bell, and this time it was answered.
“The lady has fainted!” he cried to the astonished waiter. “Bring water, brandy—send some of the women here, and get a doctor at once.”
In a few minutes several people were in the room, and some of the female servants began bathing May’s brow and hands with water, while John Temple tried to wet her lips with the spirits they had brought him. He knelt down at her side; he called her by every endearing name, but still May made no sign. Then a doctor hurried in and proceeded to use remedies to revive the senseless girl. And at last, with faint, gasping sighs, a tinge of color stole back to the white face, and presently May opened her eyes.
“My dearest, my darling, are you better now?” whispered John Temple, bending over her, and holding one of her cold hands fast in his.
May tried to speak, but no words came from her pale lips.
“Do not crowd round her,” said the doctor, looking up; “let her have plenty of air.”
Those standing near fell back, but John Temple did not stir.
“Did the attack come on suddenly, sir?” asked the doctor, addressing John.
“Yes,” he answered slowly.
“Ah, well, she will be better presently. Try to swallow this, madam; it will do you good.”