It was
an outlet for Jemima's fierce energy. With a strength she had
never again, and never had known before, she lifted up her
fainting sister, and, bidding Mary run and clear the way, she
carried her in through the open garden-door, up the wide
old-fashioned stairs, and laid her on the bed in her own room,
where the breeze from the window came softly and pleasantly
through the green shade of the vine-leaves and jessamine.
"Give me the water. Run for mamma, Mary," said Jemima, as she saw
that the fainting-fit did not yield to the usual remedy of a
horizontal position and the water-sprinkling.
"Dear! dear Lizzie!" said Jemima, kissing the pale, unconscious
face. "I think you loved me, darling."
The long walk on the hot day had been too much for the delicate
Elizabeth, who was fast outgrowing her strength. It was many days
before she regained any portion of her spirit and vigour. After
that fainting-fit she lay listless and weary, without appetite or
interest, through the long sunny autumn weather, on the bed or on
the couch in Jemima's room, whither she had been carried at
first. It was a comfort to Mrs. Bradshaw to be able at once to
discover what it was that had knocked up Elizabeth; she did not
rest easily until she had settled upon a cause for every ailment
or illness in the family. It was a stern consolation to Mr.
Bradshaw, during his time of anxiety respecting his daughter, to
be able to blame somebody.
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