Christian hardly knew how she managed it,
but she did do it, for it was necessary; Arthur must be kept quiet. She
was now sitting in the silent, half-dark room, with the boy lying quite
still and patient now, his little hot hand clinging fast to hers.
"How content he seems with you! He does not want Phillis, I think."
"No! no! no!" cried Arthur, violently. "Phillis beats me; she always
does, every day of my life. I hate her! If I die, Phillis ought to be
hanged, for it was she that killed me."
"Hush! hush! no speaking," said Christian; and her soft compelling
hand pressed the boy down again. She was now almost certain that the
lung was injured, and her eyes were full of foreboding compassion as
they rested on the poor little fellow, so unused to suffering.
"Is this all true about Phillis?" whispered Dr. Grey.
"I fear it is; but we can not talk of that just now. Ah! here is the
doctor."
It was an inexpressible relief to Christian when, after his first glance at
the patient, Dr. Anstruther said, in his quick, firm, cheery way,
"Now, Dr. Grey, we'll soon put your little man right. But we only want
women here. The best thing you can do is to walk out of the room.
This young lady?"
"Mrs. Grey--Dr. Anstruther."
"I see--I beg your pardon, madam;" and his keen eyes took in at a
glance the graceful figure, the brilliant evening dress.
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