It was an inexpressible relief to Christian when, after his first glance at the patient, Dr. Anstruther said, in his quick, firm, cheery way,
"Now, Dr. Grey, we'll soon put your little man right. But we only want women here. The best thing you can do is to walk out of the room. This young lady?"
"Mrs. Grey—Dr. Anstruther."
"I see—I beg your pardon, madam;" and his keen eyes took in at a glance the graceful figure, the brilliant evening dress. "I was to have met you today at dinner at the vice chancellor's, but this prevented you, I suppose?"
"Yes," said Christian; and then, in a few whispered words, told about the accident, and her suspicions of what it was. The freemasonry of trust which springs up instantaneously between any honest doctor and sensible nurse made them friends in five minutes.
Mrs. Grey's fears had been only too true. Many weeks of illness and of anxious nursing lay before her and her poor boy. After all had been done that could be done, Dr. Grey was recalled, and the facts explained to him; though Dr. Anstruther, who seemed to understand him well, dwelt as lightly upon them as possible, consistent with that strict truth which was always spoken by the good doctor. Still, it was enough.
When Dr. Anstruther was gone, Dr. Grey caine and stood by the sofa, in great distress.
"An illness of weeks—delicate for months—and perhaps weakly for life.
Oh, my poor boy!"
"Hush!" said Christian; "the child might hear. Go, and sit down for a minute, and I will come to you."
She came, and, leaning over him, laid her hand tenderly on her husband's shoulder. She could do no more, even though he was her husband. She felt helpless to comfort him, for the key which unlocks all consolation was in her heart not yet found. Only there came over her, with a solemn presentiment which had its sweetness still, the conviction that whatever happiness her lot might have missed, its duties were very plain, very sure. All her life she would have, more or less, to take care of, not only these her children, but their father.