The moments passed, and at last the lips opened in a
fluttering sigh, the bosom rose with a full inhalation, and a spot of
colour crept into either cheek.
"Thank God!" said Godfrey, in a voice that was almost a sob. "Now,
Simmonds, go out and bring that Irish girl, and send one of your men
to 'phone for Hinman."
Simmonds sent one of his men scurrying with a word, and himself dashed
up the stairs to the other floor. He was back in a moment, almost
dragging the frightened girl with him. Her teeth were chattering and
she started to scream when she saw that still form on the bed, but
Simmonds shook her savagely.
"There's nothing to be afraid of," Godfrey assured her. "Your mistress
isn't dead--she'll soon come around. But you must get her undressed
and to bed. And then keep bathing her face with cold water till the
doctor comes. Understand?"
"Ye--yes, sir," faltered the girl. "But--oh!" and a burst of
hysterical sobbing choked her.
Simmonds shook her again.
"Don't be a fool, Annie Crogan!" he said. "Get hold of yourself!"
Godfrey stepped off the bed and picked up one of the limp wrists.
"Her pulse is getting stronger," he said, after a moment.
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