“Why?”
“A headache.”
“Not a heartache?”
“I said a headache, father.”
“Doctor Marigold must prescribe for that headache.”
She took up the book of my Prescriptions, and held it up with a forced smile; but seeing me keep still and look earnest, she softly laid it down again, and her eyes were very attentive.
“The Prescription is not there, Sophy.”
“Where is it?”
“Here, my dear.”
I brought her young husband in, and I put her hand in his, and my only farther words to both of them were these: “Doctor Marigold’s last Prescription. To be taken for life.” After which I bolted.