“Now,” he said, “you have been good, and have kept your word, and have obliterated yourself.”
She did not ask him the meaning of the word, although she did not understand it. She looked at him with the most pathetic face he had ever seen.
“Speak,” she said. “Will he live?”
“Dr. Harland thinks so, and he is the very best authority in the world. He hopes in a day or two to remove the pellets which have done the mischief. The danger, as I have already told you, lies in renewed hemorrhage; but that I hope we can prevent. Now, are you going to be a very good girl?”
“What can I do?” asked Evelyn. “Can I go to him and stay with him?”
“I wonder,” said the doctor—“and yet,” he added, “I scarcely like to propose it. There is a nurse there; your aunt is worn out. I will see what I can do.”
“If I could do that it would save me,” said Evelyn. “There never, never has been quite such a naughty girl; and I—I did it—oh! not meaning to hurt him, but I did it. Oh! it would save me if I might sit by him.”
“I will see,” said the doctor.
He felt strangely interested in this queer, erratic, lost-looking child. He went back again to the sickroom. The Squire was conscious. He was lying in comparative ease on his bed; a trained nurse was within reach.
“Nurse,” said the doctor.