“Do you think, doctor,” asked Lucy, with trembling lips, “he will—” but she could not speak the word. “Not a bit of it,” and the doctor snapped his fingers. “Oh, I am so thankful!” “Now be off to bed, every one of you!” said the doctor, with a certain jolly imperiousness. “Scamper!” And he shook his tawny mane. “No doubt there are plenty of fellows who would gladly die for you, but I intend to pull this one through. Good-night. Go and dream of the hero. Of course you are all in love with him. Good-night.” And with a courtly bow he took his leave. CHAPTER XII. A few days after this, when Mrs. Carter entered the Don’s room, before going down to breakfast, to see how he was getting on, she found him entirely free from fever and his head clear once more. It was then that, for the first time, she made him understand that the house in which he was lying was the one in front of which he had so often met little Laura. “You must know we have often played the spy upon you from our window while you were talking to her.” “Indeed!” said he, coloring. “You must have thought—” “We thought none the worse of you, I can assure you.” “How strange my conduct must have appeared to you! But had you only known—however—” And he suddenly checked himself. “Do you know that your condition has been critical?” said she, changing the subject. “During the first few days we were very uneasy about you.” “Few days! You don’t mean to say that I have been lying here several days?” “Yes; the accident occurred on Saturday, and this is Thursday morning.” “Is it possible?” “Yes; but you have been delirious, and of course could know nothing of the lapse of time. You can imagine what our feelings were, doubtful as we were as to the result of your injuries. There you lay, suffering from possibly fatal injuries, while, owing to the disordered condition of your brain, we could in no possible way learn from you the address of your friends,—you remember, Mr. Frobisher,—nor write them of your condition.” The Don’s face grew clouded, as Charley’s quick eyes perceived; but Mrs. Carter’s being fixed upon Charley for the moment, she did not remark the change. (I was getting a nap in an adjoining room.) “I am sure,” continued she, “I cannot explain why I felt so, for I did all I could, even insisting, one night, when the doctor pronounced your condition exceedingly critical, upon Mr. Frobisher’s looking through your pockets for letters or other sources of information; but I could not help repeating and repeating to myself, What will his mother say when she learns that we—Ah, you are suffering again. Well, we must not talk any more just now. You will be better after breakfast. You can take some breakfast, can you not? No? But I shall send up some toast, may I not? Yes? Ah, that’s right. It will do you good; and little Laura shall be allowed now to pay you the visit she has so often begged for.” “Little Laura! Ah, send her in right now,—do, please.”