“Is she indisposed?” I asked.
“Not exactly that. But the excitement and alarm of the last two or three days have been, I fear, rather too much for her nerves. I say alarm, for the poor girl was really frightened at Mrs. Allen's wild conduct—and no wonder. Death following in so sad a way, shocked her painfully. She did not sleep well last night; and this morning she looks pale and drooping. In all probability, quiet of mind and body will soon adjust the balance of health; still, it may be safest for you to see her.”
“A mere temporary disturbance, no doubt, which, as you suggest, quiet of mind and body will, in all probability, overcome. Yet it will do no harm for me to see her; and may save trouble.”
“Excuse me a moment,” she said, and left the room. In a little while she returned, and asked me to accompany her up stairs.
I found the daughter in a black and gray silk wrapper, seated on a lounge. She arose as I entered, a slight flush coming into her face, which subsided in a few moments, leaving it quite pale, and weary looking. After we were all seated, I took her hand, which was hot in the palm, but cold at the extremities. Her pulse was feeble, disturbed, and quick.
“How is your head?” I asked.
“It feels a little strangely,” she replied, moving it two or three times, as if to get some well defined sensation.
“Any pain?”
“Yes; a dull kind of pain over my left eye, that seems to go deep into my head.”
“What general bodily sensation have you? Any that you can speak of definitely?”