She saw that he was very faint.
"I'm sorry it hurts you, dear," she said, "but it stops the blood when I
press this way, and I'm sure that's better for you. The doctor will be
here soon, and I think I'd better hold it till he comes."
Lanse nodded again, his brows contracting with pain, not only from the
pressure upon the wound, but from the reaction from the blow which had
caused it.
Charlotte's eyes watched the clock, her hands never relinquishing their
task.
"What next?" she was thinking. "Will the time ever be up and father and
mother come back to find us all safe? Three more months--three more
months----"
Dr. Andrew Churchill came whistling softly across the lawn, glancing at
his watch, and noting that he was fifteen minutes later than he had
expected to be. In the doorway of his office he came to a surprised
halt.
"Miss Charlotte! What's happened?"
Lanse spoke faintly for himself: "Got hit at the shop--wrench slipped
out of man's hands above me--nothing much----"
"No--I see," the doctor answered, surveying the situation.
He lifted Charlotte's cotton rolls, noted the character and extent of
the injury, and lost no time in getting at work.
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