“In the meantime,” said Richard to his sister, “send those two to bed,” pointing out Henrietta and me.

“I’ve told them to go, but they won’t,” said Sophie, somewhat sharply.

Henrietta walked off, rather injured, but I would not go.

Mr. Langenau had another faint attack, and I was quite certain he would die.  Charlotte was making him breathe sal volatile and Sophie ran to rub his hands.  The Doctor was busy at the light about something.

“The room is all ready,” said the servant.

“Very well; now Mr. Richard, if you please,” the Doctor said.

“Pauline,” said Richard, coming to me as I stood at the foot of the balusters, “You can’t do any good.  You’d better go up-stairs.”

“Oh, Richard,” I cried, “I think you’re very cruel; I think you might let me stay.”

I suppose my wretchedness, and youthfulness, and folly softened him again, and he said, very gently, “I don’t mean to be unkind, but it is best for you to go.  You need not be so frightened:  there isn’t any danger.”

I moved slowly to obey him, but turned back and caught his hand and whispered, “You won’t let them hurt him, Richard?” and then ran up the stairs.  No doubt Richard thought I went to my own room; but I spent the next hour on the landing-place, looking down into the hall.

It was rather a serious matter, getting Mr. Langenau even into the library, and it was well they had not attempted his own room.  Patrick was called, and with his assistance and Richard’s, he began to move across the hall.  But half-way to the library-door, he fainted dead away, and Richard carried him and laid him on the bed, Patrick being worse than useless, having lost his head, and the Doctor being a small man, and only strong in science.

Pretty soon the library-door closed, and Sophie and Charlotte were excluded.  They walked about the hall, talking in low tones, and looking anxious.  Later, there came groaning from within the closed door, and Charlotte Benson wrung her hands and listened.  The groans continued for a long while:  the misery of hearing them!  After a while they ceased:  then Richard opened the door, hastily, it seemed, and called “Sophie.”

Sophie ran forward, and the door closed again.  There was a long silence, time enough for those who were outside to imagine all manner of horrid possibilities.  Then the Doctor and Richard came out.

“How is he, Doctor?” said Charlotte Benson, bravely, going to meet them, while I hung trembling over the landing-place.

“Oh better, better, very comfortable,” said the Doctor, in his calm professional tone.

I could not help thinking those groans had not denoted a very high state of comfort; but maybe the Doctor knew best how people with dislocated shoulders and broken ribs are apt to express their sentiments of satisfaction.

I listened with more than interest to their plans for the night:  the Doctor was going away at once; two of the servants and Patrick were to relieve each other in sitting by him, while Richard was to throw himself on the sofa in the hall, to be at hand if anything were needed.