"No, thank you, sir," answered Helen, colouring. "But do not fear; I can nurse Papa. I think he has been worse before,—that is, he has complained more."
The homeeopathist rose, and took two strides across the room; then he paused by the bed, and listened to the breathing of the sleeping man.
He stole back to the child, who was still kneeling, took her in his arms and kissed her. "Tamn it," said he, angrily, and putting her down, "go to bed now,—you are not wanted any more."
"Please, sir," said Helen, "I cannot leave him so. If he wakes he would miss me."
The doctor's hand trembled; he had recourse to his globules.
"Anxiety—grief suppressed," muttered he. "Don't you want to cry, my dear? Cry,—do!"
"I can't," murmured Helen.
"Pulsatilla!" said the doctor, almost with triumph. "I said so from the first. Open your mouth—here! Goodnight. My room is opposite,—No. 6; call me if he wakes."
CHAPTER XIII.
At seven o'clock Dr. Dosewell arrived, and was shown into the room of the homoeopathist, who, already up and dressed, had visited his patient.