Young Mr. Sattarlee rose from his place at the back of the room. He did not look at Dr. Ellis, or at any of his colleagues, but stared straight over their heads. There was no one in the room who did not know of his devotion to Miss Ellingwood, and Sarah's constant association with her.
"She has been reading a little Latin at sight for me," he said. "She did it very well."
"She seems to have done very well for all of you," said Dr. Ellis grimly. "I wish that I could feel that we had done as well by her."
Dr. Brownlee stood motionless at the door. He was polite enough not to say, "I told you so," though restraining himself must have cost considerable effort.
"Put her to bed at once over in the Infirmary where it's quiet," he commanded. "I'll see the nurse. And keep her there for two weeks. Then, if she goes slowly for the rest of the year, doing only her own regular work, and that as easily as possible, she'll get through without any injury to herself. Don't let her go home for the vacation. She isn't fit for the journey or the excitement of seeing people. I'll be down to-morrow morning again. Good-by."
At first Sarah lay very still and stared at the infirmary ceiling. She did not remember being carried thither, and it seemed to her that she spent days in trying to realize where she was. She remembered afterwards that she was constantly disturbed by a person in a white dress who insisted that she must eat and drink when she did not wish to eat and drink.
"It is very good," the person in white would say coaxingly, and Sarah would rejoin politely but a little wearily,—
"Is it so? Then won't you please eat it? I don't want to eat."
But all her protestations made no difference; the hot broth or cold milk was poured down her throat.
Once a tall man spent several hours by her bed, and fed her and held her hand and was very strong and comforting. After he had gone she said to the nurse, as though she had made a great discovery, "Why, that was William!" and the nurse laughed and said, "Yes."