“No; the longer I ponder the matter, the more confused my mind becomes.”
“Will you leave it in my hands, and abide by my decision?”
“Yes, gladly.”
“You promise to be satisfied with any course upon which I may resolve?”
Looking up quickly, she exclaimed,—
“Oh, yes; I trust you, fully. Do what you think best.”
Dr. Grey put his hand under Stanley’s chin, and, lifting his face, examined his countenance and felt his pulse.
“He is only frightened and fatigued. Put him to bed at once in your room, and then let me take you to see little Jessie. If you fail to go, you might reproach yourself in coming years.”
It was nine o’clock when the carriage stopped at the door of the Asylum, and Salome and Dr. Grey went up to the “Infirmary,” where the faithful matron sat beside one of the little beds, watching the deep slumber of the flushed and exhausted sleeper.
The disease had almost spent its force, the crisis was passed, and the attending physician had pronounced the patient much better; still, when Salome stooped to kiss her sister, the matron held her back, assuring her that perfect quiet was essential for her recovery. Kneeling there beside the motherless girl, Salome noted the changes that time and suffering had wrought on the delicate features; and, as she listened to the quick, irregular breathing, the fountain of tenderness was suddenly unsealed in her own nature, and she put out her arms, yearning to clasp Jessie to her heart. So strong were her 46 emotions, so keen was her regret for past indifference and neglect, that she lost all self-control, and, unable to check her passionate weeping, Dr. Grey led her from the room, promising to bring her again when the sick child was sufficiently strong to bear the interview.