Dr. Hughes was
telling her to look at something, and she did look, and she saw Dr.
Parkman's hands, only it seemed they were not human hands at all,
but some infallible instrument, an instrument with an unconquerable
soul,--and then everything was dancing before her eyes, her ears were
pounding harder and harder, her knees sinking, everything swaying, some
one had hold of her, and some one else, a great many miles away was
saying--"Take her out!"
When she opened her eyes, she was lying on a couch in an anteroom, the
nurse bending over her. The attendant smiled pleasantly, no more agitated
than before. "Too bad," she said; "a good many of us take it like that at
first."
But Ernestine was not to be comforted. It meant too much to her. The
tears were running down her face, but suddenly she brushed them angrily
aside, and sat up. "I'm going back," she said resolutely.
"Oh, but you mustn't," protested the nurse,--"not today. It really
wouldn't do. And anyway they must be almost through.
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