“Let me look,” responded the doctor, drawing close and peering into the invalid’s face.
“Halloa!” he exclaimed, and felt her pulse.
Jim Regan, the ranchman, with his two children, Agnes and Louis, had followed him into the room.
“By George, Regan!” said the doctor, straightening up and turning with a smile of relief upon the family, “this is no age of miracles. But we have a near-miracle here. Your wife is no longer ill; she’s convalescent. All she needs is rest and food and ordinary care. Barbara Vernon has, with her own hands, dragged her back from the grave. Halloa! What’s the matter?”
It was Mrs. Vernon who had drawn this question from the doctor. On hearing the glad news that brought tears and smiles of joy from the family, Barbara’s face flushed with a sense of relief, went pale again, and, the suspense over, she would have fallen had not the doctor caught her in his arms.
He placed her upon a lounge and made a hasty examination.
“I hope this is not a life for a life,” he said presently. “But the sick person of this house is not your wife, but Barbara Vernon. She’s in for a long siege, I fear.”
“Doctor,” said the ranchman, “if love or money can help her, I’ll not fail. Tell me what to do.”
“I like that sort of talk,” said the physician. “She needs a nurse badly, as badly as your wife needed one. Now, fortunately I have at my disposal the very nurse I would have had for your wife.”
“Can you send her, doctor?”