"Who is it that is hurt?" inquired the doctor. "Ishmael Worth, our overseer's nephew!" "How did it happen?" "Didn't they tell you?" "No." "Oh, poor boy! He threw himself before my horses to stop them as they were running down the steeps over the river; and he turned them aside, but they knocked him down and ran over him!" "Bad! very bad! poor fellow!" said the doctor, jumping from his gig as he drew up before the house. Claudia ran in before him, leading the way to the sick chamber, at the door of which she rapped to announce the arrival. This time old Katie opened the door, and admitted the doctor. Claudia, excluded from entrance, walked up and down the hall in a fever of anxiety. Once old Katie came out and Claudia arrested her. "What does the doctor say, Katie?" "He don't say nothing satisfactory, Miss Claudia. Don't stop me, please! I'm sent for bandages and things!" And Katie hurried on her errand, and presently reappeared with her arms full of linen and other articles, which she carried into the sick-room. Later, the doctor came out attended by the judge. Claudia waylaid them with the questions: "What is the nature of his injuries? are they fatal?" "Not fatal; but very serious. One leg and arm are broken; and he is very badly bruised; but worst of all is the great shock to his very sensitive nervous system," was the reply of Doctor Jarvis. "When will you see him again, sir?" anxiously inquired Claudia. "In the course of the evening. I am not going back home for some hours, perhaps not for the night; I have a case at Gray's." "Indeed! that is the reason, then, I suppose, why no one has answered my message to come up and see Ishmael. But who is sick there?" inquired Claudia. "Mrs. Gray. Good-afternoon, Miss Merlin," said the doctor shortly, as he walked out of the house attended by the judge. Claudia went to the door of Ishmael's room and rapped softly. Old Katie answered the summons. "Can I come in now, Katie?" asked Miss Merlin, a little impatiently. "Oh, yes, I s'pose so; I s'pose you'd die if you didn't!" answered this privileged old servant, holding open the door for Claudia's admittance. She passed softly into the darkened room, and approached the bedside. Ishmael lay there swathed in linen bandages and extended at full length, more like a shrouded corpse than a living boy. His eyes were closed and his face was livid. "Is he asleep?" inquired Claudia, in a tone scarcely above her breath. "Sort o' sleep. You see, arter de doctor done set his arm an' leg, an' splintered of 'em up, an' boun' up his wounds an' bruises, he gib him some'at to 'pose his nerves and make him sleep, an' it done hev him into dis state; which you see yourse'f is nyder sleep nor wake nor dead nor libe." Claudia saw indeed that he was under the effects of morphia. And with a deep sigh of strangely blended relief and apprehension, Claudia sank into a chair beside his bed.