I'm afraid she is really a very sick woman." But no such thought did she impart to Lois, when she tucked her up in bed, giving her a hearty kiss with her soothing draught, and bidding her have some sense and stop crying, for Mrs.Forsythe would be all right in the morning.

But the morning brought no comfort; the doctor, who had come from Mercer as quickly as Mrs.Dale's horses could bring him, was very grave.
"The shock to the nervous system," he said,--"we cannot tell what it will do." Lois was so prostrated by grief at Mrs.Forsythe's condition, no one dared tell her that Mr.Denner was the immediate anxiety.

There was an injury to the spine, and the plunging hoofs had done more harm than was at first supposed; things looked very serious for the little gentleman.
The lawyer had fainted when he was lifted over his gloomy threshold, where Mary stood waiting and wringing her hands, and had struggled back to consciousness to find himself on the big, slippery horse-hair sofa, in his dusky library.

Dr.Howe was standing at his side, looking anxiously down at him, and a neighbor was trying to slip a pillow under his head.
Gifford had gone to help Mary bring a bed down-stairs, for the slightest movement caused Mr.Denner pain, and they dared not lift him, even to take him up to his bedroom.
"What is the matter ?" Mr.Denner tried to say.

"I seem to be giving trouble.