Then altogether perplexed, but believing Ethel’s every word, she said: “Can you come down to the hotel and see if you can ease him? The doctor says that his paralysis comes from the ‘functional disorder of the nervous centers,’ whatever all-that-is.”
“That is hemiplegia,” said Ethelbert, “and means ‘I strike one-half,’—so he is paralyzed on one side. If that is it, one corner of his mouth will be drawn a little, and one cheek will look in a sort, withered and drooping. If it is that, his mind will be curious.”
“You are a cold-blooded thing, any way,” said Mrs. Mancredo, frightened and angry.
Ethelbert opened her eyes reflectively.
“Forgive me,” said the excitable woman, “and get into my carriage and come now.”
“In a minute,” said Ethelbert; and in about that time she came back with her hat and her mother, whom she introduced, saying:
“My mother will go, too.” And cutting some fresh roses she followed the two elder ladies into the carriage, and they drove away to the hotel.
Reginald was awake when they entered; and Ethelbert had given the flowers to Mrs. Mancredo, who walked with them to the sick man. He smiled that strange half smile, which was contradicted by the paralyzed muscles on the other side of his mouth. “He will get on in a way, you know,—in a way,” said the physician. “He will perhaps be talking and about again, in a way, you know,—in a way.”
“I found her, Reginald, she is here,” said Mrs. Mancredo, and she motioned to Miss Daksha to approach. A look of heavenly rapture overspread his countenance. In a strange, full voice he cried out: “My mother!”
With an exclamation the physician started forward, but fell back, as Ethelbert said all motherly: “Yes, Reginald.”