“Go in and sit with your father,” said one of the doctors to Helen.
Without a word she disappeared into the darkened room, and all the others, including little Pearl in Nurse’s arms, followed the medical men downstairs. They went into the Doctor’s study, where Flower was still lying very white and faint on the sofa. Fortunately for the peace of the next quarter of an hour Mrs. Cameron had taken herself off in a vain search for Scorpion.
“Now,” said Polly, when they were all safely in the room—she took no notice of Flower; she did not even see her—“now please speak; please tell us the whole truth at once.”
She went up and laid her hand on the London physician’s arm.
“The whole truth? But I cannot do that, my dear young lady,” he said, in hearty, genial tones. “Bless me!” turning to the other doctor, “do all these girls and boys belong to Maybright? And so you want the whole truth, Miss—Miss——”
“I’m called Polly, sir.”
“The whole truth, Polly? Only God knows that. Your father was in a weak state of health; he had a shock and a chill. We feared mischief to the brain. Oh, no, he is by no means out of the wood yet. Still I have hope of him; I have great hope. What do you say, Strong? Symptoms have undoubtedly taken a more favorable turn during the last hour or two.”
“I quite agree with you, Sir Andrew,” said the local practitioner, with a profound bow.
“Then, my dear young lady, my answer to you, to all of you, is that, although only God knows the whole truth, there is, in my opinion, considerable hope—yes, considerable. I’ll have a word with you in the other room, Strong. Good-by, children; keep up your spirits. I have every reason to think well of the change which has set in within the last hour.”
The moment the doctors left the room Polly looked eagerly round at the others.