Mr. Stern was very, very sorry for her.
"Dear Chrissie," he said, "you must not make yourself ill. In a day or two you will be wanted very much indeed, and you must be ready for it. Your brother will want you nearly all day long."
Chrissie's sobs stopped as if by magic, though they still caught her breath a little, and her face grew all pink and rosy.
"Will he, will he?" she exclaimed. "Do you mean that he is really going to get better? I thought—I thought—mamma kept shut up in the room, and nobody would tell me—do you really think he is going to get better soon?"
Mr. Stern took her hand and led her downstairs, and then into the library. There was no one there, but he closed the door.
"My dear child," he said, "I will tell you all I can," for he knew that Christine was a sensible little girl, and he knew that anything was better than to have her working herself up more and more with miserable fears. "I think Ferdy will be better in a day or two, but we cannot say anything yet about his getting well. Your father has gone to Whittingham to see one of the best doctors, and ask him to come down here to-night or to-morrow to examine your brother, and after that we shall know more. But I am afraid it is very likely that he will have to stay in bed a long time, and if so, you know how much you can do to make the days pass pleasantly for him."
Chrissie's eyes sparkled through the tears still there. "I don't mind that," she began. "Of course I know it will be very dull and tiresome for him, but nothing seems very bad compared with if he was going to—" she stopped short, and again she grew very white. "Oh, you are sure he isn't going to get worse?" she exclaimed. "I do get so frightened every now and then when I think of how his face looked, and it was bleeding too."
Mr. Stern patted her hand.
"You have not seen him since this morning?" he said.