"Hush, darling," I said, "I will live for you if I can--ask Dr.
Pemberton to save me."
"You are better, already, Miriam," he whispered. "Mrs. Austin, take
Mabel away until she can be quiet and behave like a lady; her sister is
getting well--tell her I say so. Call Miss Evelyn here, instantly."
"No, no!" with an impatient movement of the hand. "Not Evelyn;" again my
arm fell nervelessly.
"Well, then, don't call her, of course. I will stay a while myself; we
don't want anybody at all, Miriam and I, only each other. Go you and
make that panada ready, and sent it when I ring. Let Charity bring it,
she will do. Keep every one else away."
His word was law in our household in times of illness, and Mabel's cries
were hushed at once by his assurances, and she was led passively away.
She was capable of great self-control on emergencies, like her own dear
sainted mamma, who always thought _first_ what was best for others, and
_afterward_ for herself, if there was room at all for such latter
consideration.
"You must have revived hours ago," said Dr. Pemberton, after I had
rallied sufficiently to prove to him that my crisis was over, and the
usual symptoms of returning convalescence had been manifested. "I have
marked your seizures narrowly, the periods are perfect--have limited
them to eighteen hours latterly--nay, sometimes to twelve; they used to
be four-and-twenty.
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