Sheila stood trembling in the hall below, and hearing words which proved to her that Effie was better, she suddenly burst into tears and sobbed uncontrollably.
“Tut, tut,” said the doctor kindly, “what is the matter here?”
“She was upset to hear about her cousin’s illness,” said Oscar, answering for her. “She was in the Town Hall too, and I think we all got a fright, and coming home to hear of illness had upset her quite.”
“Send her to bed, send her to bed,” said the doctor kindly, “and keep her there till I come to-morrow. I can’t stay now. I am wanted in all directions at once. It has been a bad bit of business, but thank God things are wonderfully better than we might have looked to see.”
And the doctor went off in haste, being wanted, as he said, in half a dozen different directions, whilst Mrs. Cossart took Sheila in her arms, in an almost motherly embrace, for her tears over Effie’s illness had touched a chord of sympathy.
“Is dear Effie better?” sobbed Sheila.
“Yes, just a little; she’s come to herself, but he would not let her talk, and gave her an injection of morphia which sent her off to sleep. Perhaps she will wake up much better. And now, my dear, you must come to bed and tell me all about it, for I have not been able to hear anything, and I am all in a tremble still to think of you all—and my precious child—in the midst of such terrible danger.”
“And I don’t feel as though I could do anything,” cried Sheila, “till I have thanked God for saving us and for making Effie better.”
(To be continued.)