"There, Clara, drink that and offer a silent prayer to heaven to give you self-control."
"I will—oh, I must for his sake! But tell me, Traverse, is it—is it as I fear—as he expected—apoplexy?"
"No, dear love—no. He rode out this morning and his horse got frightened by the van of a circus company that was going into the town, and——"
"And ran away with him and threw him! Oh, heaven! Oh, my dear father!" exclaimed Clara, once more clasping her hands wildly, and starting up.
Again Traverse promptly but gently detained her, saying:
"You promised me to be calm, dear Clara, and you must be so, before I can suffer you to see your father."
Clara sank into her seat and covered her face with her hands, murmuring, in a broken voice:
"How can I be? Oh, how can I be, when my heart is with grief and fright? Traverse! Was he—was he—oh, dread to ask you! Oh, was he much hurt?"
"Clara, love, his injuries are internal! Neither he nor I yet know their full extent. I have sent off for two old and experienced practitioners from Staunton. I expect them every moment. In the mean time, I have done all that is possible for his relief."
"Traverse," said Clara, very calmly, controlling herself by an almost superhuman effort, "Traverse, I will be composed; you shall see that I will; take me to my dear father's bedside; it is there that I ought to be!"