"HOW I DO HATE THAT GIRL!"
"Oh! my poor darling!"
It was Mrs Berens who spoke; the accident, and its consequent call upon
her for aid, having in an instant swept away all thought of self, and
shown her at once in her best colours, full of true womanly sympathy.
Leo stood leaning against the hedge, dazed and perfectly helpless, while
Mrs Berens came running out to help; but only to rush in again and
return with a decanter and water.
"Is she--is she--"
"Hush!" whispered the doctor sternly; "try and pour a few more drops
between her lips, and keep on bathing her forehead till I get her out."
Mrs Berens was down upon her knees on one side of Mary Salis, with her
hands and delicate dress bedabbled with blood; but she did not heed the
dust or hideous stains as she passed her left arm beneath the poor
girl's neck, and held her with her cut and bruised face resting upon her
bosom, while the doctor tore hard at the crooked woodwork and iron which
held the sufferer pinned down.
"Leo Salis," said the doctor impatiently, "if you're not hurt, don't
stand dreaming there, but run off to the village for help."
Leo stared at him wildly for a moment or two, and then walked hastily
away, holding her left wrist in her right hand, as if she were in pain.
"Hah! That's better," cried the doctor, as he set one foot against a
portion of the iron-work, and pulled with all his might, his effort
being followed by a loud cracking noise, and the iron bent. "Now, Mrs
Berens, I think we can lift her out."
"Yes; let me help," cried the widow energetically, and seeming quite
transformed as she assisted in bearing the inanimate girl into the
drawing-room.
"Quick, Mary, pillows," she cried; and her round-eyed, helpless maid ran
upstairs, to return with the pillows, by whose aid Mary Salis was placed
in a comfortable position.
Without its being suggested. Mrs Berens herself fetched basin, sponge,
and towels, with which the blood and dust were removed, the widow
colouring once highly as the doctor awarded her a word of praise.
"Cut in the temple. Hair will cover it," said the doctor, as he rapidly
dressed the insensible girl's injuries. "Nasty contusion there on the
cheek--slight abrasion."
"Will it disfigure her, doctor?" said Mrs Berens anxiously.
"Oh! no--soon disappear."
"What a comfort," sighed the widow, who evidently believed that a young
lady's face was her fortune. "Is she much hurt, doctor?"
"No; I am in hopes that she is only suffering from the concussion. That
bleeding has been good for her. She is coming round."
"Poor darling!" cried Mrs Berens, tenderly kissing Mary's hand.
"You're an uncommonly good, useful woman, Mrs Berens," said the doctor
bluntly. "I didn't think you had it in you."
"Oh, doctor!" she cried.
"Spoilt your dress and lace too. But, never mind, it will bring her
round. Ah! that's better; she's coming to."
"Is she?"
The doctor pointed to the quivering lips, as the next minute there was a
weary sigh, and Mary Salis opened her eyes to gaze wildly round, and
then made an effort as if to rise, but she only raised her head and let
it fall back with a moan.
"Are you in pain?" said the doctor, as he took her hand.
She looked at him wildly, and a faint colour came into her cheek as she
whispered hoarsely:
"Yes. Send--for a doctor."
"He is here, my poor dove," cried Mrs Berens. "Don't you know him--Dr
North?"
"Yes; but send--for some one--a doctor."
"A little wandering," whispered North, bending over Mary, who tried to
shrink from him. "Now," he said gently, "try and tell me where you feel
pain. I must see to it at once."
"No, no. Don't touch me--a doctor--send for a doctor," answered Mary.
"But Mr North is a doctor, my poor dear," cried Mrs Berens.
"Send--for a doctor," whispered Mary again; and then she uttered a faint
cry of indignation and dread commingled as, thinking of nothing but the
case before him, the doctor began to make the necessary preliminary
examination, to stop short at the end of a minute, and lay his hand upon
the patient's forehead, aghast at the discovery he felt that he had
made.
"Don't resent this," he said kindly. "Believe me, it is necessary, and
I will not give you more pain than I can help."
"Mrs Berens," sobbed the poor girl, "your hand."
"My darling!" cried the widow, taking the extended hand, to hold it
pressed against her lips.
"Now, Miss Salis," said the doctor, "I want you to move yourself
gently--a little more straight upon the couch."
She looked at him strangely.
"Now, please," he said. "It will be an easier position."
But still she did not move.
"Did you try?" he said rather hoarsely.
"Yes--I tried," she said faintly; and then the flush deepened in her
face again, as the doctor bent over the couch, and changed the position
in which she lay.
"Did I hurt you?" he said.
"No. Did you move me?" she faltered; and Mrs Berens looked at him
inquiringly.
"Just a trifle," he said gravely. "Ah! here's Salis."
There was a quick step outside, and the curate rushed in, followed more
slowly by Leo, who looked ghastly.
"Mary, my dear child," he cried, throwing himself upon his knees beside
his sister, "are you much hurt?"
"I think not, Hartley, dear," she replied, with a smile. "My head is
not so giddy now."
"Oh! what a madman I was to let you go," he cried.
"Hush, dear! It was an accident," said the poor girl tenderly. "I
shall soon be better. You are hurting Leo. She suffers more than I."
"That cursed mare, North. She looked vicious. How was it, Leo?"
"She pulled, and one of the reins broke," said Leo hoarsely. "There
would have been an accident with any horse."
"Yes, yes, of course," said Mary faintly; "and I am very sorry, Hartley.
The chaise--the expense. Thank dear Mrs Berens, and now let me try
and walk home."
"No, no, my dear," said Mrs Berens, "you must not think of going. Stay
here, and be nursed. I'll try so hard to make you well."
"I know you would," said Mary gently; "but I shall be better at home.
Leo, dear, help me up. No, no, Hartley; I did not want to send you
away. I'm better now."
She made an effort to rise, as the doctor looked on with eager eyes
awaiting the result, at which his lips tightened, and he glanced at Mrs
Berens.
For Mary Salis moved her hands and arms, and slightly raised her head,
but let it fall again, and looked from one to the other wildly, as if
her perplexity were greater than she could bear.
Hartley Salis caught his friend by the wrist, and then yielded himself,
and followed the doctor as he moved from the room.
"North, old fellow," he said, in an eager whisper, "what does that mean?
Is she much hurt?"
"Try and bear it like a man, Salis. It may not be so bad as I fear, but
I cannot hide from you the truth."
"The truth! Good heavens, man, speak out!"
"Hush! She is too weak from the shock to bear it now. Let her learn it
by degrees, only thinking at present that she is nerveless and stunned."
"But you don't mean--Oh, North!" cried the curate, in agony.
"Salis, old friend, it would be cruel to keep back the truth," said the
doctor, taking his hand. "It may not be so bad, but I fear there is
some terrible injury to the spine."
"Good heavens!" cried Salis wildly; "that means paralysis and death."
"Let's hope not, old friend."
"Hope!" cried the curate wildly. "How has that poor girl sinned that
she should suffer this?"
At that moment the truth had come home to Mary Salis that her injury was
terrible in extent, and she lay there gazing wildly at her handsome
sister, but seeing beyond her in the long, weary vista of her own life a
helpless cripple, dragging her way slowly onward towards the end.
Then there was a low, piteous sigh, and Mrs Berens came quickly to the
door.
"Doctor," she whispered, "come back. Fainted!"
North hurried back into the room, to find Mary Salis lying back, white
as if cut in marble, while her sister stood gazing at her in silence,
making no movement to be of help.
"How I do hate that girl!" he muttered, as he went down on one knee by
the couch.