sleepy and wanted to retire, and I helped her to
undress before I went. But she ain't bad hurt, is
she?" she continued, stooping over the still figure
and tenderly smoothing back the disheveled hair.
--"It's only the cheek bruised and the forehead cut
a little--it's the blood that makes it look like a bad
hurt. See, when I bathe it, it is not a bad hurt, sir.
She's just been--she's just worn out, poor thing--
and she's asleep--that's all."

He made no answer to the woman's speech, but
turned toward me. "Five doors from here," he
said, "and to your left as you go out, you will find
the residence of Dr. Worrel. Go to him for me, and
tell him he is wanted here at once. Tell him my
mother is much worse. He will understand. I
would go myself, but must see about arranging for
your comfort upon your return, for you will not
leave me till broad daylight--you must not!" I
bowed in silent acceptance of his wishes, and turned
upon my errand.

Fortunately, the doctor was at home, and
returned at once with me to my friend, where, after a
careful examination of his patient, he assured the
anxious son that the wounds were only slight, and
that her unconscious condition was simply "the result
of over-stimulation, perhaps," as he delicately
put it. She would doubtless waken in her usual
rational state--an occurrence really more to be