"He is better; sleeping well, and in less pain."
"Don't look better," grunted the young man, and he glanced at his watch.
"Dinner at eight. Like to go and lie down, Marion?"
"No," was the quiet reply.
"All right," said the young man, and he walked back to his seat, while
Marion waited for a few moments, and then, gazing wistfully at Chester,
said in a low whisper--
"You did not speak. He is better, is he not?"
The young doctor made no reply, but sat there breathing hard, as if
fascinated.
"I cannot tell you how grateful I feel to you," she continued. "Your
coming here has saved poor dear Robert's life. I know how strange it
all must seem to you, but I--we dare not let you go. It is such a
terrible emergency."
"Yes," he said softly, "and I have done my best."
"But I cannot help reading it in your eyes, doctor--you are thinking of
leaving."
He started slightly, and then turned his eyes to his patient so as to
avoid the gaze which held him in spite of the mental struggle against
what seemed to be fate.
"Well," he said, as he laid his hand upon the sufferer's brow, "I am.
Is it not natural? Yes," he whispered hoarsely, "by some means I must
and will leave this house to-night."
Her face grew convulsed, and for a few moments she was silent. Then in
a low, impassioned whisper, she reached across the couch to lay her hand
upon his arm, the contact seeming to send a hot flush through every
nerve, and he turned to gaze at her with a look half horror, half
delight.
"And you hold his life in your hands," she murmured piteously. "What
can I say?--what can I do to move you? Doctor, he is everything to me
in this world. If he--died, I could not live."
"For Heaven's sake, don't look at me--don't speak to me like that!" he
whispered back, and he took her hand to remove it from his arm,
shivering as if it were some venomous thing; but it turned and clung to
his fast, and was joined by the other. "Madam, I have done, and am
doing, everything I can to save your husband's life, and--"
He ceased speaking, for he saw her lips part in a smile, and her wild
eyes grew soft and humid, as, with a little laugh, she said--
"Dearest Rob! My husband!" Then she loosed the hand she held, laid
hers upon the head of the couch, and bending down she softly pressed her
lips against the patient's brow, while a feeling of bitter jealousy sent
the blood surging through Chester's brain, till the eyes were turned
again to his, and, with a look that sent every forming manly intention
flying to the winds, she said softly--
"Why did you think that? Doctor, for a poor, pleading woman's sake,
give up all thought of going. I could not bear it. There--look--his
face is growing convulsed," she whispered in a quick, agitated tone,
"And you talk of going! He is dying. Robert! Robert! Oh, doctor, do
you not see?"