That day he spent a long time studying his books.
In the evening he came again, and sat by Clematis. He shook his head, sadly.
“I must tell you, Miss Rose, that Clematis is a very sick little girl,” he said, as they stood in the hall.
“Can’t you do anything for her?” The tears sprang to her eyes.
“Perhaps I can. If she is no better tomorrow, I shall feel very anxious.”
Again that night the doctor spent a long time over his big books. Then he went and talked with doctors in the hospital.
“I shall be here most of the time tonight,” he said the next morning. “Keep her cool, and as comfortable as you can.”
Miss Rose went back to the bed with aching heart.
“Oh, if we only knew what was the matter with you, Clematis,” she thought, as she looked at the little white face.
In the evening Doctor Wyatt came back once more.