“You have worked yourself into a high fever, Miss Williston, that’s what you’ve done,” he said, with professional mournfulness.
“I know it,” she smiled, wanly. “I couldn’t help it. I’m sorry.”
Gordon drew up a chair and sat down by her, saying with grave kindness, “You are fretting. We must not let you. I am going to stay with you all night and shoo the goblins away.”
“You are kind,” said Mary, gratefully. “May I tell you when they come? If some one speaks to me, they go away.”
“Indeed you may, dear child,” he exclaimed, heartily. He had been half joking when he spoke of keeping things away. He now perceived that these things were more serious than he knew.
The doctor administered medicine to reduce the fever, dressed the wounded arm, with Gordon’s ready assistance, and then called in Mother White to prepare the bed for his patient; but he paused nonplussed before the weight of entreaty in Mary’s eyes and voice.
“Please don’t,” she cried out, in actual terror. “Oh, Mr. Gordon, don’t let him! I see such awful things when I lie down. Please! Please! And Mr. Langford said I might sit up till he came. Mr. Gordon, you will not let him put me to bed, will you?”
“I think it will be better to let her have her way, Lockhart,” said Gordon, in a low voice.
“Mebbe it would, Dick,” said the doctor, with surprising meekness.
“I’ll stay all night and I’ll take good care of her, Lockhart. There’s Mother White beckoning to supper. You’ll eat before you go? No, I won’t take any supper now, thank you, mother, I will stay with Mary.”