There was great alarm at first, until it was found that she was in a swoon, and that the swoon was yielding to the usual means of recovery; when the Doctor, who had lifted her head upon his knee, put her curls aside with his hand, and said, looking around: 'Poor Annie! She's so faithful and tender-hearted! It's the parting from her old playfellow and friend--her favourite cousin--that has done this.
Ah! It's a pity! I am very sorry!' When she opened her eyes, and saw where she was, and that we were all standing about her, she arose with assistance: turning her head, as she did so, to lay it on the Doctor's shoulder--or to hide it, I don't know which.

We went into the drawing-room, to leave her with the Doctor and her mother; but she said, it seemed, that she was better than she had been since morning, and that she would rather be brought among us; so they brought her in, looking very white and weak, I thought, and sat her on a sofa.
'Annie, my dear,' said her mother, doing something to her dress.

'See here! You have lost a bow.

Will anybody be so good as find a ribbon; a cherry-coloured ribbon ?' It was the one she had worn at her bosom.

We all looked for it; I myself looked everywhere, I am certain--but nobody could find it.
'Do you recollect where you had it last, Annie ?' said her mother.
I wondered how I could have thought she looked white, or anything but burning red, when she answered that she had had it safe, a little while ago, she thought, but it was not worth looking for.
Nevertheless, it was looked for again, and still not found.