"This is torpor--not sleep, nor yet death," she said, without
recoiling from the pitiful wreck.
Indeed, as she spoke, she bent to feel his pulse; held the emaciated
wrist in her warm fingers until she could determine whether the
feeble stroke were a reality, or a trick of the imagination.
"Dr. Ritchie should see him immediately. He is in the smoking-room.
If you call him out, it will excite less remark than if I were to do
it. Don't let Winston guess why you want him," were her directions
to her aunt, uttered quickly, but distinctly.
"Yon will not stay here! At least, go into the hall! What will the
doctor think?"
"I shall remain where I am. The poor creature is too far gone to
presume upon my condescension," with a faint sarcastic emphasis.
At Mrs. Sutton's return with the physician, she perceived that her
niece had not awaited her coming in sentimental idleness. A thick
woollen coverlet was wrapped about the prostrate figure, and Mabel,
upon her knees on the dusty hearth, was applying the candle to a
heap of waste paper and bits of board she had ferreted out in
closets and cuddy-holes. It caught and blazed up hurriedly in season
to facilitate the doctor's examination of the patient, thrown so
oddly upon his care. Mrs. Sutton had not neglected, in her haste, to
procure a warm shawl from her room, and she folded it about the
girl's shoulders, whispering an entreaty that she would go to bed,
and leave the man to her management and Dr. Ritchie.
Mabel waved her off impatiently.
"Presently! when I hear how he is!" moving toward the comfortless
couch.
The physician looked around at the rustle of her dress, his pleasant
face perturbed, and perhaps remorseful.
"This is a bad business! I wish I had examined him when he was
brought in. There would have been more hope of doing something for
him then. But, to tell the truth, I was one of the five or six
prudent fellows who stayed upon the piazza, and witnessed the
capture from a distance. I had no idea of the man's real situation.
Mrs. Sutton! can I have brandy, hot water, and mustard at once! Miss
Mabel! may I trouble you to call your brother? He ought to be
advised of this unforeseen turn of affairs."
His emissaries were prompt. In less than ten minutes, all the
appliances the household could furnish for the restoration of the
failing life were at his command. An immense fire roared in the
long-disused chimney; warm blankets, bottles of hot water and
mustard-poultices were prepared by a corps of officious servants;
the master of the mansion, with three or four friends at his heels,
and a half-smoked cigar in his hand, had looked in for a moment, to
hope that Dr. Ritchie would not hesitate to order whatever was
needed, and to predict a favorable result as the meed of his skill.