“I hope my old brother officer does n't forget me. Don't you remember Dashwood of the 43d?”
“The wildest chap in the regiment,” muttered Kellett, “though he was the surgeon. Did you know him, sir?”
“I should think I did,” said the doctor, smiling; “he was a great chum of yours, was n't he? You messed together in the Pyrenees for a whole winter.”
“A wild chap,—could never come to any good,” went on Kellett to himself. “I wonder what became of him.”
“I can tell you, I think. Meanwhile, let me feel your pulse. No fixed pain here,” said he, touching the region of the heart. “Look fully at me. Ah, it is there you feel it,” said he, as he touched the other's forehead; “a sense of weight rather than pain, isn't it?”
“It's like lead I feel it,” said Kellett; “and when I lay it down, I don't think I 'll ever be able to lift it up again.”
“That you will, and hold it high too, Kellett,” said the doctor, warmly. “You must just follow my counsels for a day or two, and we shall see a great change in you.”
“I 'll do whatever you bid me, but it's no use, doctor; but I 'll do it for her sake there.” And the last words were in a whisper.
“That's spoken like yourself, Kellett,” said the other, cheerily. “Now let me have pen and ink.”
As the doctor sat down to a table, he beckoned Bella to his side, and writing a few words rapidly on the paper before him, motioned to her to read them.