The Major came forward and took the hand of his friend, the Rector, silently. “Is there any hope?” whispered Mr. Hales.
“Less and less. It is now two hours since we began trying to restore her. I was nearly drowned myself, some years ago, and lay for an hour insensible. Every minute that passes now lessens the chance. But this young lady is wonderfully clever.”
“I only do what you tell me,” said Mabel, looking up without leaving off her persevering efforts.
“Flying in the face of the Almighty, I call it,” cried Mrs. Bottler, who was very tired, and ought to have had equal share of the praise. “Poor dear! we had better let her bide till the doctor cometh, or the crowner.”
“Not till a doctor declares her dead,” said Major Aylmer, quietly; “I am delighted that you are come, Mr. Hales. You are a great reinforcement. I have longed to try my own hand, but—but you can; you are her uncle. Perhaps you have not seen a case like this. Will you act under my directions?”
“With all my heart,” replied the Rector, pulling off his coat, and pitching it down anywhere. “Oh, my dear, my pretty dear, I do believe you will know my touch. Go out of the way, Mrs. Bottler, now—go and make some soup, ma’am. Mabel and I, Mabel and I, when we get together, I do believe we could make a flock of sheep out of a row of flints. Now, sir, what am I to do?”
Whatever he was told, he did with such a will, that presently Mabel looked up, and exclaimed with breathless delight—“Oh, I feel a little throb—I did feel a little flutter of the heart—I am almost sure I did.”
“My dear girl, rub away,” answered the Rector; “that is right, Major, is not it?”
“I believe so. Now is the critical time. A relapse—and all is over.”