"In my side—a sharp, stabbing pain."
The servant appeared now, alarmed by the disturbance, and Mary told her to bring some coals, and then to dress herself as speedily as she could.
"Is there any linseed? Or oatmeal will do. I must make a poultice."
"I'll see, miss. There's some linseed, I think, but——"
"Fetch it, and a kettle. We'll light the fire at once; then I can make it up here."
The old lady moaned and shivered by turns; and some difficulty was experienced in getting the fire to burn. Mary held a newspaper before it, and the servant advanced theories on the subject of the chimney.
At last, when it was possible for the poultice to be applied, Mary sent her down for a hot-water bottle and the whisky.
"You'll be quite comfortable directly," she said to the invalid. "Something warm to drink, and the hot flannel to your feet 'll make a lot of difference."
"So cold I am, it's bitter—and the pain! I can't think what it can be."
"Let me put this on for you, then; it's all ready. It won't—is that it?... There! How's that?"