“No; I am in hopes that she is only suffering from the concussion. That bleeding has been good for her. She is coming round.”
“Poor darling!” cried Mrs Berens, tenderly kissing Mary’s hand.
“You’re an uncommonly good, useful woman, Mrs Berens,” said the doctor bluntly. “I didn’t think you had it in you.”
“Oh, doctor!” she cried.
“Spoilt your dress and lace too. But, never mind, it will bring her round. Ah! that’s better; she’s coming to.”
“Is she?”
The doctor pointed to the quivering lips, as the next minute there was a weary sigh, and Mary Salis opened her eyes to gaze wildly round, and then made an effort as if to rise, but she only raised her head and let it fall back with a moan.
“Are you in pain?” said the doctor, as he took her hand.
She looked at him wildly, and a faint colour came into her cheek as she whispered hoarsely:
“Yes. Send—for a doctor.”