"You are not accustomed to fevers, my dear. I am, and he will get better. I am glad you have made this visit; it will do him good."
"Then I am glad, too," she replied, wiping away her tears. "Oh! if anything had happened, I never should have forgiven myself."
In reality, there was no blame to be attached to her; she had been guilty of no encouragement or coquetry. I could not bear that she should brood over his illness, until she accused herself as the cause, and really grew horrified at what she might fancy her own wickedness.
"He is in God's hands," I said; "either way it would have been as He willed."
"Then you do not think that any trouble—any—"
"I think he would have been sick," I replied, seeing her unable to go on; "he has not looked well for some time past, and his grandmother told me that he had always been somewhat subject to fevers."
Jessie breathed heavily, and looked relieved.
In our preoccupation we had passed from the grounds into the high-road, instead of taking the footpath.
"We must strike into the clover-field at the turn," I said, when I observed our error; "it would make too long a walk to follow the road."
Jessie did not answer. I heard the tramp of horses' hoofs, and looking up saw Mr. Lawrence riding rapidly toward us. He did not check his horse, but lifted his riding-cap, gave a low, stately bow, a quick glance at Jessie's tear-stained face, and galloped on.