"Yes, dear. He seized the little bamboo stool, and struck at it. Oh,
Duncan! Duncan! Don't let him die!"
"Let him die, my dear?" said the doctor, drawing in his breath. "Not if my poor knowledge can save him. But I have great hopes that your brave thoughtfulness will have had its effect. Now go and lie down a bit till you have grown calm. This terrible business has unhinged you."
"No, no, dear; let me stay."
"I dare not, my dear. You are weak and hysterical from the shock, and
I must keep the poor boy undisturbed."
"You may trust me, dear," said Mrs. Cameron; "I am better now. There, you see I am mastering my weakness. I will master it, and be quite calm, so as to help you to nurse him and make him well."
"May I trust you?"
"Yes, yes, dear."
"But suppose he is very, very bad?" whispered the doctor.
"I will be quite calm and helpful then. Afterwards I will not answer for myself."
"Then stay," said the doctor, who examined his patient as he lay there, looking strange and completely stupefied.