"Oh, no! I think not; only fainted. I suppose there's hot water, for a bath, in the kitchen."
As she spoke, they entered the sitting-room,—a cool, shady apartment, with a great beam crossing the ceilings, and deep recesses to the windows, with seats in them.
At the farther side, Dora threw open the door of a little bedroom, whose gay-papered walls and flowered chintz furniture, not to speak of a great sweet-brier bush tapping and scratching at the window, with all its thousand sharp little fingers, gave it a good right to be called the rosy-room. Dora hastily drew away the bright counterpane, and nodded to Karl, who laid the little form he carried tenderly upon the bed.
At this moment, another door into the sitting-room opened; and a girl, somewhat older than Dora, put in her head, looked about for a moment, and then came curiously toward the door of the rosy-room.
"I thought I heard you, Dora," said she. "What are you doing in here? Why!-who's that?"
"O Kitty! can you warm a little of that broth we had for dinner, to give her? She's just starved, I really believe. And is there any ammonia in the house?-smelling-salts, you know. Didn't aunt have some?" asked Dora rapidly.
"I believe so. But where did you get this child? Who is she?"
"Run, Kitty, and get the salts first. We'll tell you afterward."
"What shall I do, Dora?" interposed the young man; and Kitty ran upon her errand, while Dora promptly replied,—
"Open the window, and bring some cold water; and then a little wine or brandy, if we have any."