“It will have to be in my little spare-bedroom, then, doctor; my best room is already appropriated. Bring clean linen from the chest quickly, Martha;” and hurrying into the little room, mistress and maid soon had everything in readiness for the unexpected guest.
Tenderly and carefully they lifted and then carried the unconscious man, and as they laid him gently down in the cool bed he drew a long, deep breath, as though in some vague way appreciative of a grateful change. Then one thing and another was done at the doctor's bidding, until at last there was need of nothing further, and old Mrs. Hartley, first sending the little maid to her room above stairs, crept off to bed, more utterly worn out and exhausted than for many a weary day. Chris threw himself on the living-room lounge, and was soon fast asleep, and the doctor, sitting near the bed, and where he could closely watch his patient, motioned young Allyn to draw a chair close to his side.
“Now, my friend,” he said, “I want you to tell me the real name of your friend here, for I am convinced you have not done so, and then I want you to give me a true account of this whole deplorable affair. It will not disturb him in the least if you keep your voice carefully lowered.”
Young Allyn did not answer for several seconds. He sat leaning way forward in the chair he had drawn to the doctor's side, his elbows on his knees and his chin resting on his tightly clasped hands. He was evidently thinking hard, and it was easy to read the play of intense emotion on his face.
“Dr. Arnold,” he said finally, as though he had slowly thought his way out to a decision, “my friend's name is Theodore Harris, but it is the first time he has ever been mixed up in anything of this sort, and should he get over it, I wanted to spare him the mortification of its being known if I could. Do you think he is so much hurt that his family—that his brother—ought to be sent for?”
“We can't tell about that to-night. The opiate I have given him will account for this heavy sleep. Everything will depend upon how he comes out of it in the morning.”
“And if it does prove not as serious as you feared”—trying to steady a voice that trembled in spite of him—“what then?”
“Two or three weeks of careful nursing.”
“Will they let us stay here, do you think?”
“They'll have to for a while. It would be out of the question to move him.”