"You think then she is--in danger?" asked Barbara.
"My dear young lady," said he, taking her hand, "in the greatest danger. If inflammation of the lungs sets in, as I much fear it will, nothing can save her.--Nurse, I'll write a prescription for a cordial. If she speaks, and sends for any one, give it to her just before they come. It will revive her for a time."
About midday, when Alice had gone out for a little air, and Barbara was left alone with the nurse and the patient, there came a groan from the bed, and running up together, they found Kate with her eyes open, staring vaguely before her. After a few minutes she spoke, in a hoarse strange voice.
"What's this?" she said. "Have I missed my tip at the ribbons and had a spill? Lord, how old Fox will give it me! A-h, my side! This must have been a bad cropper, eh? Hollo! I was fancying I was at the old circus, again. Where am I? who are you? what has happened?"
"You are, with friends," said Barbara, kneeling by the bed; "you have had an accident, and--"
"Ah, now I recollect! the Irish horse bolted and blundered at the rails! How long ago was it?"
"Yesterday, about this time."
"And I was brought here--to your house! What a kind voice you've got! and I'm bad, eh? I know I must be from the pain I'm in; my side hurts me most awful. Has the doctor seen me? what doctor?"
"Mr. Slade: you've heard of him?"
"Oh, yes, seen him often; drives a rat-tailed bay in a D'Orsay cab; goes the pace; often wondered he didn't break his neck. What does he--oh! my side!" She groaned deeply, and while groaning seemed to drop off into a heavy stertorous slumber.