“We have for some time feared so,” said the doctor. “Within a day or two symptoms have appeared which seem to indicate an absolute and speedy necessity for amputation. Poor little thing! It is very sad for her, of course.”
“Does she know it?” asked Miss Gertrude, steadying her voice with a great effort.
“I think she is not altogether unprepared for it. She must know that she is not getting better, and I fancy she must suspect the necessity from something she once said to the nurse. Poor girl! she seems to grieve quite as much on account of her friends as on her own.”
“Have they been informed of this—of the possible result of her illness?” asked Mr Sherwood.
“She has written to them several times during the summer, I believe. They seem to be very poor people, living at a distance—quite unable to do anything for her.”
They were soon on their way to meet Mrs Seaton, who had made an appointment with them, but Miss Gertrude was quite overcome by what she had seen and heard.
“Poor Christie! To think that all these weary months of waiting must end thus! I cannot help thinking we have been to blame.”
“My child, why should you say so?”
“To think of it coming to this with her, and her friends not knowing it! Her sister never would have left her here all this time, if she had thought her in danger. She ought to know at once.”
“Yes; they must be told at once,” said Mr Sherwood. “But I fancy, from what the doctor said, they can’t do much for her; and from the poor little thing herself I have gathered that the only one who could come to her is her elder sister, on whom the rest seem to be quite dependent.”