“I think not,” said she, in a very low voice.
“She has a humble estimate of doctors; but there is one touch of nature she must not deny them,—they are very sensitive about contagion. Now, Lucy, I wish with all my heart that you were not to be the intimate associate of this woman.”
“So do I, doctor; but how is it to be helped?”
He walked along silent and in deep thought.
“Shall I tell you, doctor, how it can be managed, but only by your help and assistance? I must leave this.”
“Leave the Priory! but for where?”
“I shall go and nurse Tom: he needs me, doctor, and I believe I need him; that is, I yearn after that old companionship which made all my life till I came here—Come now, don't oppose this plan; it is only by your hearty aid it can ever be carried out. When you have told grandpapa that the thought is a good one, the battle will be more than half won. You see yourself I ought not to be here.”
“Certainly not here with Mrs. Sewell; but there comes the grave difficulty of how you are to be lodged and cared for in that wild country where your brother lives?”
“My dear doctor, I have never known pampering till I came here. Our life at home—and was it not happy!—was of the very simplest. To go back again to the same humble ways will be like a renewal of the happy past; and then Tom and I suit each other so well,—our very caprices are kindred. Do say you like this notion, and tell me you will forward it.”
“The very journey is an immense difficulty.”