“But tell me, Betsey, tell me again, do you think she will get over it?” he said imploringly.
She looked at him with the tears trickling down her face, but she did not answer.
“He comes, you see, and smiles and rubs his hands, and says, ‘She’s no worse—she’s no worse, Mr William Forth Burge, sir;’ but I can’t trust him, Betsey, like I can you. There,” he cried, “see: I’m quite calm, and I’ll bear it like a man. Tell me, do you think she’ll get over it?”
“Bill dear, I can’t tell you a lie, but I don’t think there’s any present danger. I do think, though, you ought to send for the poor girl’s brother, and let him be down.”
William Forth Burge uttered a low groan, for he read the worst in his sister’s eyes.
“I’ll send for him directly, dear,” he said; and he rose and staggered from the room.
It was in the morning, and the message for Percy to come down at once was sent; after which, in a dull, heavy way, Burge stood staring before him, trying to get his brain to act clearly, as he asked himself what he ought to do next.
“I think I ought to go down to her mother,” he said softly; “and I will.”
In this intent he went softly out into the hall, when little Miss Burge came hastily down the stairs, and her brother gasped as he placed one hand upon his side.
“Bill—Bill,” she whispered excitedly, “she is talking sensibly, and she wants to see you.”