'What sort of night has Olive had?' Mrs. Barton asked when she came in about eight.
'Not a very quiet one; I am afraid she's a little delirious.'
'Dr. Reed promised to be here early. How do you feel, dear?' Mrs. Barton asked, leaning over the bed.
'Oh, very ill; I can scarcely breathe, and I have such a pain in my side.'
'Your lips look very sore, dear; do they hurt you?'—Olive only moaned dismally—and, looking anxiously at her elder daughter, she said:
'And you, too, Alice, are not looking well. You are tired, and mustn't sit up another night with your sister. To-night I'll take your place.'
'Oh, mother, no! I assure you it is a pleasure to me to nurse Olive. I am very well indeed; do not think about me.'
'Indeed, I will think about you, and you must do as I tell you. I'll look after Olive, and you must try and get a good night's rest We will take it in turns to nurse her. And now come down to breakfast. Barnes, you'll not think of leaving Miss Olive until we come back; and, if any change occurs, ring for me immediately.'
When Dr. Reed arrived, Alice was again sitting by the bedside.
'And how is our patient to-day?'