They wheeled Mrs. Poynsett away at her usual hour, when he was dozing; and as Frank was still tossing and moaning incoherently, and often required to be held, Julius persuaded Anne to let him take her place with him, while she became Raymond’s watcher. He dozed about half an hour, and when she next gave him some food, he said, in a very low feeble tone:
“You have heard from Miles?”
“Yes; he says nothing shall stop him the moment they are paid off.”
“That’s right. No fear of infection—that’s clear,” said Raymond.
“I think not—under God!” and Anne’s two hands unseen clasped over her throbbing, yearning heart.
“Dear old fellow!” said Raymond. “It is such pleasure to leave mother to him. If I don’t see him, Anne, tell him how glad I am. I’ve no charge. I know he will do it all right. And mother will have you,” and he held out his hand to her. Presently he said: “Anne. One thing—”
“Yes,” she said anxiously.
“You always act on principle, I know; but don’t hang back from Miles’s friends and pleasures. I know the old fellow, Anne. His nature is sociable, and he wants sympathy in it.”
“I know what you mean, Raymond,” said Anne; “I do mean to try to do right—”
“I know, I know,” said he, getting a little excited, and speaking eagerly; “but don’t let right blind you, Anne, if you censure and keep from all he likes—if you will be a recluse and not a woman—he—don’t be offended, Anne; but if you leave him to himself, then will every effort be made to turn him from you. You don’t believe me.”