“Nor need you,” said she, placing the keys under the old man's pillow. “I heard you coming here,—I heard you enter the room. I am thankful it is no worse.”
“What do you mean by no worse?” cried he, seizing her by the wrist, and staring savagely at her,—“say what you mean, woman!” She made no reply; but the scornful curl of her lip, and the steady unflinching stare of her eyes showed that neither his words nor his gesture had terrified her.
“You shall hear more of this to-morrow,” said he, bending on her a look of intense hate; and he stole slowly away, while she seated herself at the bedside, and hid her face in the curtain.
CHAPTER XVII. AN UNGRACIOUS ADIEU
When Dr. Beattie came at seven o'clock in the morning, he found his patient better. The nurse gave her account, as nurses know well how to do, of a most favorable night,—told how calmly he slept, how sensibly he talked, and with what enjoyment he ate the jelly which he had never tasted.
At all events, he was better; not stronger, perhaps,—there was no time for that,—but calmer and more composed.
“You must not talk, nor be talked to yet awhile,” said Beattie; “and I will station Haire here as a sentinel to enforce my orders.”
“Yes, I would like Haire,” whispered the old man, softly. “Let him come and sit by me.”
“Can I see Mrs. Sewell? or is it too early to ask for her?” inquired the doctor of a maid.