Dr. Grey gently lifted Elsie’s arm and placed her hand on the head of her mistress, and the expression of her face assured him he had correctly interpreted her feelings. Something still disturbed her, and he suggested,—
“Mrs. Gerome, put your hand in hers.”
She silently obeyed him, and then the old woman’s eyes looked once more intently into his. He could not conjecture her meaning, until, in feeling her pulse, he found that she was trying to touch his fingers with hers.
He slipped his own into the palm where Mrs. Gerome’s lay, and, by a last great effort, she pressed them feebly together.
Even then, the touch of those white, soft fingers, thrilled his heart as no other hand had ever done, and he said,—
“Elsie, you mean that you leave her in my care? That you put her in my hands? That you trust her to me?”
It was impossible to mistake the satisfied expression that flashed over her countenance.
“I accept the trust. Elsie, I promise you that while I live she shall never want a true and faithful friend. I will try to take care of her body, and pray for her soul. I will do all that you would have done.”
Once more, but very faintly, she pressed the two hands she had clasped, and closed her eyes.
“Oh, doctor, can’t you save her?” sobbed Robert.