"And the tightness over your breast?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"What can I do for you?"
"Nothing. I want rest and sleep."
Mrs. Grant stood for some time looking down upon Mary's red cheeks;
red in clearly defined spots, that made the pale forehead whiter by
contrast.
"Something more than sleep is wanted, I fear," she said to herself,
as she passed from the chamber and went down stairs. In less than
half an hour she returned. A moan reached her ears as she approached
the room where the sick girl lay. On entering, she found her sitting
high up in bed; or, rather, reclining against the pillows, which she
had adjusted against the head-board. Her face, which had lost much
of its redness, was pinched and had a distressed look. Her eyes
turned anxiously to Mrs. Grant.
"How are you now, Mary?"
"Oh, I'm sick! Very sick, Mrs. Grant."
"Where? How, Mary?"
"Oh, dear!' I'm so distressed here!" laying her hand on her breast.
"And every time I draw a breath, such a sharp pain runs through my
side into my shoulder. Oh, dear! I feel very sick, Mrs. Grant."
"Shall I send for a doctor?"
"I don't know, ma'am." And Miss Carson threw her head from side to
side, uneasily--almost impatiently; then cried out with pain, as she
took a deeper inspiration than usual.
Mrs. Grant left the room, and going down stairs, despatched her
servant for a physician, who lived not far distant.
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