“Suppose we get Mr. Robertson to speak to her,” she replied. “This may be only temper.”
On going to his room I shook him vigorously. “Robertson, Robertson, wake up.” After some difficulty, I roused him. He shuffled off the bed as I told him my errand, and in a moment we were beside the sick child.
“Speak to her,” said Mrs. Drummond impatiently; “she is ill.”
He brushed his hand over his face, and leaning over her said, “Daisy, won’t you speak to me?”
At the sound of his voice, the child opened her eyes, and looked up at him dreamily. Then in a low voice, she repeated the terrible oath he had uttered a few hours before. It sounded unspeakably dreadful coming from her childish lips.
“Put on your coat,” I said, “and go for a doctor; the child’s mind is wandering.”
CHAPTER III
Almost Lost