When Mrs. Whitmore regained consciousness she was alone in her own bed.
Out in the sitting-room, Margaret, Katherine, and the doctor talked together in low tones. At last the girls hurried into the kitchen, and the doctor turned and entered the bedroom. With a low ejaculation he hurried forward.
Mrs. Whitmore flung out her arm and clutched his hand; then she lay back on the pillow and closed her eyes.
“Doctor,” she whispered, “where am I?”
“At home, in your own bed.” “Where is this place?”
Dr. Littlejohn paled. He sent an anxious glance toward the sitting-room door, though he knew very well that Margaret and Katherine were in the kitchen and could not hear.
“Where is this place?” begged the woman again.
“Why, it--it--is--” The man paused helplessly.
Five thin fingers tightened their clasp on his hand, and the low voice again broke the silence.
“Doctor, did you ever know--did you ever hear that a fall could give back--sight?”