“There's no tellin', Peter—there's no tellin'; strength don't count for much if one's head is hurt past mending.”
Just then the door of the spare-room opened, and the young man, closing it gently after him, was just in time to hear the last words.
“Oh, you don't think it's so bad as that?” he said in an almost agonized whisper, as he came to the side of the couch.
“There's no tellin',” repeated Mrs. Hartley very seriously; and then as she looked up and saw, now that dust and grime and the stains from two or three slight cuts were removed, that the face above was a good face, after all, her heart went out in sympathy, and she added gently, “but we'll hope for the best, dear—we'll hope for the best. Chris must come with the doctor very soon now whereupon, for some reason or other, the poor fellow broke down utterly, and sinking into the nearest chair, buried his face in his hands.
“The heart knoweth its own bitterness,” said Mr. Hartley solemnly, turning over the back-log of the fire and shaking his head gravely from side to side.
“I doubt if that's what the young man's needing just now, father,” remarked Mrs. Hartley dryly; and although evidently resenting the implied reproof, Mr. Hartley wisely determined to keep his own counsel; and for many minutes thereafter the heavy breathing of the men asleep in the next room and the crackling of the wood upon the andirons were the only sounds that broke the silence. Now and then Martha came in with a cloth freshly wet with cold water from the well—for Mrs. Hartley suspected some form of injury to the brain—and then slipped as noiselessly out again. At last the sound of wheels in the lane without, and then for the first time the young man raised his face from his hands and hurried to meet the doctor. As they came in together he was apparently explaining just how the accident had happened, and the doctor's face looked grave with apprehension.
“What is your friend's name?” he asked as he reached the lounge.
“Theodore—-Morris,” after a second's hesitation. Convinced that he had not given an honest answer, the doctor looked keenly into his face a moment; “and yours?” he added.
“Allyn, sir,” returning his glance as keenly, and then not another word was spoken, while the doctor carefully looked his patient over. Close beside him stood Mrs. Hartley, trying to read his conclusions in advance, and Martha stood just beyond, eager to render the slightest service, while Chris, with steady hand, held the light now high, now low, according to the signal from the doctor.
“It is a case, doubtless, of concussion of the brain,” he said at last; “just how serious I cannot at once determine, but, first thing, Mrs. Hartley, we must get this poor fellow to bed.”