“Mary! Papa!” cried Claude, as she ran into the study, followed by the doctor.
“Hush! Don’t be alarmed,” said Mary. “I only thought that he was not breathing quite so naturally as he should, and I sent Woodham to fetch you.”
Claude flew to her father’s side, and caught his hand, looking intently in his face and then inquiringly at the doctor, who advanced in a calm, professional way, removed the lamp shade, drew the light so that it would fall upon the patient’s face, proceeded to feel his pulse, and then opened his eyelid to gaze attentively in the pupil.
“Quick, tell me!” cried Claude, in an excited whisper; “is it another fit?”
“No,” said the doctor gravely. “Be calm and quiet. I should like him to wake up naturally. There is nothing to mind.”
Claude uttered a sigh of relief, and closed her eyes for a few moments.
“What is the matter?” she said then.
“I am not sure yet, but I fear that it is what we said—an overdose.”
“Oh, Doctor Asher!”
“Hush, my child; don’t be agitated. There, he will sleep more easily now,” he continued, as he unfastened the insensible man’s collar and drew off his tie.