“You shall have help—there are plenty good women willing to help you,” he replied, and rose to go, adding: “I will go and bring one right away.”
“Get me a trained nurse, doctor—I’ll pay the cost—for what with Everard and her sick on my hands, I’ll need skilled help.”
“Oh, Mr. Dawn will be up and about in twenty-four hours, I believe, and out and gone after his eloping daughter. You need not give him any more of that opiate, and he will be awake for his breakfast. Tell him to remain quiet in his room till I call again this afternoon.”
So saying, the good old physician bustled out and away, and he did not leave Mrs. Flint long alone with her burden of perplexities and worry, but directly sent to her the best nurse the neighborhood afforded, a stout middle-aged woman, with a keen eye and cheery smile, who at once took on her younger shoulders the burden of Mrs. Flint’s care.
Together they arranged a tiny hall bedroom—all there was to spare—and removed the sleeping woman to the comfortable bed.
“Now, Mrs. Flint, you go and lie down; you look dead beat, that’s a fact,” the nurse said, compassionately.
“I must start my kitchen fire and have a bite of breakfast first. Afterward I’ll rest.”
When the breakfast was over, she stole into her brother’s room, but he was still sleeping heavily from the drug Doctor Savoy had administered.
Mrs. Flint went to her room and snatched two hours of rest, from which she was aroused by an impatient rapping on the door.
“Mercy sake, who can that be?” she ejaculated, making haste to answer the summons.