he passed his own cool hand across her brow; he took out his watch to count the beatings of the pulse.
“I am here in my professional capacity, Lucy; don’t you understand? Could I entrust my future wife to any other?” he asked, in a voice that literally trembled with tenderness. “I have been at the bedside of patients to day, love, young and delicate as you.”
“I do feel very ill,” she murmured.
The fear that was over him increased as he gazed upon her, stopping the life-blood at his heart. What if he should lose her?—if this scourge should take her away from him and from life? And of course there was only too much reason to fear that it might have been communicated to her through his visits. A scalding tear dropped on to her face, and Lucy, looking up, saw that his eyes were wet.
“Am I then so very ill?” she murmured.
“No, no, Lucy; it is not that. But this has come of my imprudence: I ought to have kept away from you; and I cannot bear that you should suffer pain! Oh my darling———”
They were coming in, Mr. Grey and Lady Jane. The experienced surgeon moved his nephew from the bed, as if the latter were but a tyro. And indeed he was such, in comparison with the man of long practice.
Mr. Grey could not recommend Lucy’s removal; quite the contrary. He saw no reason why she should not have been taken home at first, he said, but it had better not be attempted now. Jane was deeply annoyed, but she could only acquiesce.
“It cannot be helped,” she said, with a sigh. “But I am grievously vexed that she should be ill, away from my house. Remember, she is in your charge, Mr. Grey.”
“In mine? What will Mr. Carlton say to that?”
“It is of no consequence to me what he says,” was the reply. “I cast no slight upon Mr. Carlton’s skill; I have told him so; and if he chooses to attend her, conjointly with you, I have no objection whatever. But Lucy’s life is precious, and I have confidence in you, Mr. Grey, from old associations.”
Frederick Grey found that ho was to be excluded from the sick-room. His attendance as a medical man was not necessary. And both Mr. Grey and Lady Jane thought his visits might tend to excite Lucy. In vain he remonstrated: it was of no use.
“She is to be my wife,” he urged.
“But she is not your wife yet,” said Mr. Grey, “and you may trust her safely to me. Be assured that, if dangerous symptoms appear, you shall be the first to hear of them.”
“And to see her,” added Lady Jane.
With this he was obliged to be content. But he was terribly vexed over it. He stooped to kiss her hot lips in the impulse of the moment’s tenderness.
“Don’t—don’t,” she murmured. “You may take the fever.”
“Not I, child. We medical men are fever-proof. Oh Lucy, my best and dearest, may God bring you through this!”
Mr. Carlton was pleased to accept the alternative, and agreed, with some appearance of suavity, to attend Lucy in conjunction with Mr. Grey. Putting aside the implied reflection on his skill—and this, Jane reiterated to him again, was not intended—he had no objection to the visits of Mr. Grey. The fact was, Mr. Carlton would have liked to bring Lucy triumphantly through the illness himself, as he felt confident he could do; she would have had his best care, looking for no reward, as his wife’s sister; and he felt mortified that the case should have been partially taken out of his hands. It was a slight, let Lady Jane say what she would; he felt it, and no doubt the town would be free enough in its comments.
“And now, Laura,” said Jane, seeking her sister, “as you and Mr. Carlton have saddled yourselves with Lucy, you must also be troubled with me and Judith, who is invaluable in a sick-room. I shall not move out of this house until I can take Lucy with me.”
Lady Laura clapped her hands in triumph, “Well done, Jane! You, who would not condescend to put your foot over our doorstep, to be brought to your senses at last! It serves you right, Jane, for your abominable pride.”
“It has not been pride,” returned Jane. “Pride has not kept me away.”
“What then? Prejudice?”
“No matter now, Laura; we have an anxious time before us. Mr. Grey thinks that Lucy will be very ill.”
“Just what Mr. Carlton said; and he kept her here to take care of her. I am sure he will be glad to extend a welcome to you, Jane, for as long as you choose to stay with us. He has always been willing to be friendly with you, but you would not respond. He takes prejudices; I acknowledge that; but he never took one against you. He has taken one against Judith.”
“Against Judith! What has she done to Mr. Carlton?” asked Jane, in surprise.
“Nothing. But he does not like her face. He says it always strikes him as being disagreeable. I like Judith, and I’m sure she’s a faithful servant.”
Mr. Carlton, inquire as he would, was unable to discover how that whisper could have