“Nothing of the sort, dear lady. He is doing well enough; but take care of yourself.”
Myra smiled on him through her tears. “God bless you for this comfort,” she said, leaning over the baluster.
After he was gone, Myra ran into the room where her children were kept safe from contagion, and gathering them to her bosom, lavished rapturous caresses on their smiling faces.
“He is better—he is better, my darlings; he, your blessed, blessed papa. Kiss me a thousand times, and when I am gone go down on your knees so, with these angel faces lifted to heaven, and thank God—do you understand, children?—thank God, that papa is better and will live.”
The children obeyed her, and dropping on their knees, lifted their pretty faces heavenward, like the cherubs we see in Raphael’s pictures, looking the prayers they had no language to utter.
Then Myra, having subdued her great joy, went back to the sick-room again. How still and deathly he lay under the white cloud of sunshine that brooded over the bed! Myra held her breath, and listened for some sign of improvement. His eyes were closed, and his lips shrunk together and closed motionless in their golden pallor. How the heart of that fond woman cheated itself. His languid stillness was a good sign to her.
“Yes,” she whispered, sitting down by the bed, and softly clasping his feeble hand. “There is no pain now; he rests sweetly.”
He heard her and clasped her fingers with feeble recognition, but did not speak or attempt to utter a word. Still the great tears rolled down his face, and she knew he was conscious.
Thus two or three hours passed and then the fever grew rampant again, and fell upon that weak form like a vampyre, drinking up all the life that the lancet had left. Myra began to be frightened, and hoped impatiently for the doctor to come. There was something in the case that she could not understand; doubtless, it was all right, but the look of that haggard face was appalling.
At last the physician came slowly, and with that slow method which is so irksome to an impatient heart. He came to the bed, felt of the patient’s pulse, laid the hand gently down, and turned away muttering that she might go on as before, there were no fresh directions to give.