"I will--oh, I must for his sake! But tell me, Traverse, is it--is it as I fear--as he expected--apoplexy?"
"No, dear love--no. He rode out this morning and his horse got frightened by the van of a circus company that was going into the town, and----"
"And ran away with him and threw him! Oh, heaven! Oh, my dear father!" exclaimed Clara, once more clasping her hands wildly, and starting up.
Again Traverse promptly but gently detained her, saying: "You promised me to be calm, dear Clara, and you must be so, before I can suffer you to see your father."
Clara sank into her seat and covered her face with her hands, murmuring, in a broken voice: "How can I be? Oh, how can I be, when my heart is with grief and fright? Traverse! Was he--was he--oh, dread to ask you! Oh, was he much hurt?"
"Clara, love, his injuries are internal! Neither he nor I yet know their full extent. I have sent off for two old and experienced practitioners from Staunton. I expect them every moment. In the mean time, I have done all that is possible for his relief."
"Traverse," said Clara, very calmly, controlling herself by an almost superhuman effort, "Traverse, I will be composed; you shall see that I will; take me to my dear father's bedside; it is there that I ought to be!"
"That is my dear, brave, dutiful girl! Come, Clara!" replied the young man, taking her hand and leading her up to the bed-chamber of the doctor. They met Mrs. Rocke at the door, who tearfully signed them to go in as she left it.
When they entered and approached the bedside, Traverse saw that the suffering but heroic father must have made some superlative effort before he could have reduced his haggard face and writhing form to its present state of placid repose, to meet his daughter's eyes and spare her feelings.
She, on her part, was no less firm. Kneeling beside his couch, she took his hand and met his eye composedly as she asked: "Dear father, how do you feel now?"
"Not just so easy, love, as if I had laid me down here for an afternoon's nap, yet in no more pain than I can very well bear."
"Dear father, what can I do for you?"
"You may bathe my forehead and lips with cologne, my dear," said the doctor, not so much for the sake of the reviving perfume, as because he knew it would comfort Clara to feel that she was doing something, however slight, for him.