‘Oh, yes, yes, my dear sir. Otherwise she would not be woman,’ replied the merchant. ‘Agitation, sympathy, pity, all these were to be expected. But, sir, she would have been frank in the expression of her sympathy if all had been well. Instead of that, she strove to hide her concern. She became as pale as chalk—as white as milk, sir; and moved off without uttering a syllable, or making the least inquiry, and if my wife had not followed her and supported her to her chamber, she would have fell lifeless to the floor.’
‘His pulse is better,’ said the doctor, whose thoughts now ran in the line of his profession, and who had taken the youth by the wrist. ‘He will escape a fever—it was that I dreaded.’
‘And then her aunt has remarked her deportment while in the presence of the young man.’
‘A fine constitution, sir. You must not throw him away—don’t give him up yet. I think he will be restored to you, after all.’
‘She is the daughter of a beloved brother, whose death, some ten years ago, occasioned me the most poignant distress, and I shall take care of her as if she was my own child.’
‘You must not let him be disturbed, sir, and I will leave something to be administered to him as soon as he wakes.’
‘I don’t think you heard my last observation, sir.’
‘Oh, yes—I heard, sir. You remarked that she was the daughter of your esteemed brother: but, pray, sir, if the young people love one another?—’
‘You don’t understand me, sir,’ was the quick coup de parole of the merchant. ‘I did not say that the young people loved each other.’
‘Ah! now I understand,’ said the surgeon, looking really concerned. ‘I see—you wish to preserve your niece’s happiness, not to prevent it!’