“Yes, doctor,” said Madelaine, perfectly calm and self-contained now. “Mother, dear, I want your help.”
She knelt down and pressed her lips for a moment to her father’s cheek, and then placed her arm round her mother, and led her away.
An hour later, when everything possible had been done, and Mrs Van Heldre was seated by her husband’s pillow, Vine being on the other side holding his friend’s hand, Madelaine showed the doctor into the next room.
“Tell me,” she said firmly. “I want to know the truth.”
“My dear child,” said the doctor, “You know all that I know. Some scoundrel must have been surprised by your father, and—”
“Doctor,” said Madelaine quietly, and with her clear matter-of-fact eyes gazing into his, “I have been praying for strength to help my mother and my poor father in this terrible affliction. I feel as if the strength had been given to me, so speak now as if I were a woman whom you could trust. Tell me the whole truth.”
The doctor gazed at her with a look full of admiration, and taking her hand, he said kindly:
“I was treating you as if you were a girl, but I will tell you the truth. I am going to telegraph to town for Mr Reston; there is a fracture and pressure on the brain.”
“And great danger, doctor?”
“Yes,” he said, after a pause, “and great danger. But, please God, my child, we will save his life. He is a fine, strong, healthy man. There; I can say no more.”