"I should like to hear, too. It is curious the interest that one learns to take in people that are absolute strangers, when shut up together in a lonely place like this, especially when they are in trouble."
"Ay, that's it," said he, quickly. "It's the solitude, and their being in trouble. Did you hear anything more while I was away?"
"Only that Mr. March was rather better, and everybody had gone to bed except his daughter and Mrs. Tod."
"Hark! I think that's the doctor going away. I wonder if one might ask—No! they would think it intrusive. He must be better. But Dr. Brown told me that in one of these paroxysms he might—Oh, that poor young thing!"
"Has she no relatives, no brothers or sisters? Doctor Brown surely knows."
"I did not like to ask, but I fancy not. However, that's not my business: my business is to get you off to bed, Phineas Fletcher, as quickly as possible."
"Wait one minute, John. Let us go and see if we can do anything more."
"Ay—if we can do anything more," repeated he, as we again recrossed the boundary-line, and entered the Tod country.
All was quiet there. The kitchen fire burnt brightly, and a cricket sang in merry solitude on the hearth; the groans overhead were stilled, but we heard low talking, and presently stealthy footsteps crept down-stairs. It was Mrs. Tod and Miss March.
We ought to have left the kitchen: I think John muttered something to that effect, and even made a slight movement towards the door; but—I don't know how it was—we stayed.