CHAPTER XXIII.
THE DULL WEIGHT.
The rest of that day passed for Pauline in a sort of dream. She felt no fear nor pain nor remorse. She lay in bed with a languid and sleepy sensation. Aunt Sophia went in and out of the room; she was all kindness and sympathy. Several times she bent down and kissed the child’s hot forehead. It gave Pauline neither pain nor pleasure when her aunt did that; she was, in short, incapable of any emotion. When the doctor came at night his face looked grave.
“The little girl is all right,” he said. “She has had a terrible fright, but a good night’s rest will quite restore her to her usual health; but I don’t quite like the look of the elder girl.”
Verena, who was in the room, now came forward.
“Pauline is always pale,” she said. “If it is only that she looks a little more pale than usual——”
“It isn’t that,” interrupted the doctor. “Her nervous system has got a most severe shock.”
“The fact is this,” said Miss Tredgold. “The child has not been herself for some time. It was on that account that I brought her to the seaside. She was getting very much better. This accident is most unfortunate, and I cannot understand how she knew about Penelope.”
“It was a precious good thing she did find it out,” said the doctor, “or Mr. Carver’s two little children and your young niece would all have been drowned. Miss Pauline did a remarkably plucky thing. Well, I will send round a quieting draught. Some one had better sleep in the child’s room to-night; she may possibly get restless and excited.”
When Miss Tredgold and Verena found themselves alone, Miss Tredgold looked at her niece.