"Am I going to die?" she asked, raising her large blue eyes to the doctor's face.
"Certainly not," he replied, promptly; "you must not think of dying."
"But I am very ill; and last night I dreamed that I was dead."
"Have you any brandy in the house?" asked the traveler. "See how my wife trembles."
Alas for the poor doctor! There was neither brandy nor wine. With an impatient murmur, the stranger called the postilion and sent him to the Castle arms with such an order as made Mrs. Galbraith open her eyes in wonder. Than, without seeming to notice the doctor or his servant, he flung himself on his knees by the lady's side, and kissed the beautiful white face and colorless lips.
"My darling," he cried, "this is my fault. I ought not to have asked you to undertake such a journey. Can you ever forgive me?"
She kissed him.
"You did all for the best, Hubert," she said, then adding, in a whisper: "Do you think I shall die?"
Then the doctor thought it right to interpose.
"There is no question of death," he said; "but you must be quiet. You must have no agitation--that would injure you."