"You must, indeed, have been different. Mamma, I heard the front door open. If it is my uncle coming in, just ask him to step upstairs, and let me hear his assurance that I am truly awake and collected, and not dreaming or delirious."
The rector, of his own accord, was mounting the stairs, and Mrs. Pryor summoned him to his niece's apartment.
"She's not worse, I hope?" he inquired hastily.
"I think her better. She is disposed to converse; she seems stronger."
"Good!" said he, brushing quickly into the room.—"Ha, Cary! how do? Did you drink my cup of tea? I made it for you just as I like it myself."
"I drank it every drop, uncle. It did me good; it has made me quite alive. I have a wish for company, so I begged Mrs. Pryor to call you in."
The respected ecclesiastic looked pleased, and yet embarrassed. He was willing enough to bestow his company on his sick niece for ten minutes, since it was her whim to wish it; but what means to employ for her entertainment he knew not. He hemmed—he fidgeted.
"You'll be up in a trice," he observed, by way of saying something. "The little weakness will soon pass off; and then you must drink port wine—a pipe, if you can—and eat game and oysters. I'll get them for you, if they are to be had anywhere. Bless me! we'll make you as strong as Samson before we're done with you."
"Who is that lady, uncle, standing beside you at the bed-foot?"
"Good God!" he ejaculated. "She's not wandering, is she, ma'am?"