"The crisis is passed. He will live."
Yes, he would live. The suspense was over. Alexandrine's labors were shared now, and Archer did not know how devotedly he had been tended—how he owed his very existence to her.
He mended slowly, but by the middle of May he was able to go out. Of course he was very grateful to the Lees, and their house was almost the only one he visited. Alexandrine was fitful and moody. Sometimes she received him with the greatest warmth, and then she would be cold and distant. She puzzled Archer strangely. He wanted to be friends with her. He felt that he owed her an immense debt of gratitude, and he desired to treat her as he would a dear sister.
Perhaps it was because time hung so heavily on his hands that Trevlyn went so frequently to Mrs. Lee's. Certainly he did not go to visit Alexandrine. We all know how the habit of visiting certain places grows upon us, without any particular cause, until we feel the necessity of going through with the regular routine every day. He was to blame for following up this acquaintance so closely, but he did it without any wrong intention. He never thought it possible that any one should dream of his being in love with Alexandrine.
But the world talked. They said it was a very pretty romance; Mr. Trevlyn had been deserted by his lady-love, had fallen ill on account of it, and been nursed by one whom of course he would marry. Indeed, they thought him in duty bound to do so. In what other way could he manifest his gratitude?
Vague whispers of this reached Trevlyn's ear, but he gave them at first little heed. He should never marry, he said; it was sinful to wed without love. But as he saw Alexandrine's pale face and strangely distraught manner day by day, he came to feel as if he had in some way wronged her though how he did not exactly understand.
One day he entered the sitting-room of Mrs. Lee with the freedom of a privileged visitor, without rapping, and found Alexandrine in tears. He would have retreated, but she had already seen him, and he felt that it would be better to remain. He spoke to her kindly.
"I trust nothing has occured to distress you?"
She looked at him almost defiantly.
"Leave me!" she said, impetuously; "you, of all others, have no right to question me!"