But she'll get over it.

It takes a vast deal of grief to kill." "P'raps Marse Ed'ard ain't gwine ter die," said the old nurse, checking her sobs.

"Dey does say Doctah Arthur kin 'most raise de dead." "Well, I'm sure I hope Mr.Travilla won't die," responded Miss Deane, "or prove to be permanently injured in any way .-- Ah, Christine!" as the latter re-entered the room: "what is all this story about a railroad accident?
Is Mr.Travilla killed ?" "No, no, he not killed," replied Christine, in her broken English.

"How bad hurt, I not know to say; but not killed." Meantime Edward had been taken to his room, and put comfortably to bed; while Zoe, seated in her boudoir, waited anxiously for the doctor's report of his condition.
Ella was with her, and now and then tried to speak a comforting word, which Zoe scarcely seemed to hear.

She sat with her hands clasped in her lap, listening intently to catch every sound from the room where her injured husband lay.