“Poor child! how shall I tell you? Her lower limbs are completely crushed, and even amputation would not save her life.”
Floy caught at the bedstead for support, a low cry of heart-breaking anguish bursting from her lips. “Oh, mother, mother! And my father!” she gasped, “oh, where is he?”
“The gentleman who occupied the same seat with this lady? Ah, my dear child, he is done with pain.”
The girl sank upon her knees again, hiding her face in her hands and trembling in every fibre. So sudden, so terrible were these successive blows that the very earth seemed slipping from beneath her feet.
“Dear Lord, her heart is overwhelmed; lead her to the Rock that is higher than she.”
The words were spoken by an old woman in homely attire who was assisting the physician in his efforts to restore Mrs. Kemper to consciousness. The tones were very tender and pitiful, and the aged hand rested lightly for an instant upon the bowed head.
“Oh, could not one have been spared to me?” cried Floy in a burst of agony. “Fatherless! motherless! oh, that I too had been taken!”
“Dear child, He will be your Father and your Friend, and life will grow sweet again, and now He knows and feels for all your pain.”
A groan of agonizing pain came from the crushed form on the bed.
Floy rose and bent over her, the hot tears falling like rain upon the pallid, death-like face.