"Don't do anything yourself," said Mr. Ross; "lie quite still and trust to me."
Ferdy closed his eyes without speaking, and skilfully, though with infinite pains, his father raised him in his arms, Ferdy making no sound—perhaps he half fainted again; there he lay quite helpless, like a little baby, as with slow, careful tread Mr. Ross made his way to the house, from which, not a quarter of an hour ago, the boy had flown out in perfect health and joy.
At the door they met Chrissie. She started violently, then covered her face with her hands.
"Oh, papa," she began, but her mother was close behind and caught her in her arms.
"Hush, dear," she said. "No, no," in answer to the little girl's unuttered question. "Ferdy has opened his eyes and spoken to us; he knew us—papa and me."
Chrissie's terrors at once made place for hope. Her white face flushed all over.
"He's spoken to you, mamma? What did he say? Oh, then he can't be so very badly hurt. Oh, mamma, how glad I am!"
"Be very, very quiet, dear. We can do nothing, and be sure of nothing, till the doctor comes, but—oh yes, thank God, we may hope."
But by the time they had laid him on the mattress in the oriel room Ferdy looked again so ghastly pale that the poor mother's heart went down. There was little they could do; they scarcely dared to undress him till the surgeon came. It was a terrible hour or two's waiting, for Mr. Stern was out, and Larkins had to ride some considerable way before he caught him up on his morning rounds.