“He lives,” Arthur hastened to say; “but the fall has stunned him.”
Under his direction the captain was gently lifted from the ground, carried into one of the lower rooms of the mansion, and laid upon a couch, while Christine came hurrying in, bringing restoratives and whatever else seemed likely to be needed.
Arthur ordered every one else out of the room; but Max and Lulu, who had stationed themselves at the foot of the couch, where they could watch their father’s face, stood still with such entreating looks, that he had not the heart to enforce his order so far as they were concerned.
“You two may stay if you will be perfectly quiet and still,” he said.
Max had his arms about his sister, and she was clinging to him, trembling with grief and affright, but uttering no sound.
“We will, doctor,” the boy promised in a hoarse whisper. “Only let us stay where we can see him.”
The next minute the captain sighed deeply, opened his eyes, and asked quite in his natural voice, “What has happened?”
“You were thrown,” replied Arthur, “stunned to insensibility. I hope that may be all. How do you feel? Any pain anywhere?”
“Yes; a good deal in my ankle; that old hurt, you know.”
The doctor examined it. “It seems to have had a terrible wrench,” he said. “You are in for fully six weeks of quietude. I don’t think I’ll allow you to so much as move about with a crutch before the end of that time.”