"No, aunt." The tone was frank and reassuring, but evidently intended to stop further question; the councillor had said that Bruck never spoke of his profession or of incidents connected with it. "How attractive this room is to me, in spite of its shabby walls!" he said, as, with hands clasped behind him, he surveyed her writing-table. "It breathes of the peace of mind of a self-forgetting feminine nature; that is why I like so to come to our quiet home, aunt, with its old-fashioned furniture and your orderly arrangements. I shall be here a great deal."
The old lady laughed. "Yes, yes, until a certain day in June," she said, archly; "you are to be married at Whitsuntide."
"The second day of Whitsuntide." The words sounded strangely cold and decided, as if nothing should postpone for a moment the appointed hour. Kitty felt something like a shudder of dread. She held her breath; it would never do to be seen now. Every minute she hoped that the doctor would go into his room and give her the opportunity of slipping down from her perch and leaving without meeting him. Her whole nature revolted at this involuntary part of listener that she was playing. But, instead of going, he suddenly took up from the table a letter that had been slipped, apparently by chance, between two books.
His aunt made an involuntary gesture as if to prevent his reading it; her delicate face grew crimson. "Ah, heavens!" she exclaimed, "how forgetful my poor old head is growing! That letter came from town a few hours ago; it is from Lenz, the merchant, and I did not mean to let you have it to-day, but I forgot, and left it on my table. I think it contains your fee; and coming at such an unusual time, Leo,—I am afraid——"
The doctor opened the envelope, and hastily read the note. "Yes, he dismisses me," he said, calmly, tossing the letter and the paper money it contained down on the table again. "Does it worry you, aunt?"
"Me? Not for a moment, if I could be sure that you do not take the ingratitude of these foolish people too much to heart. I have firm faith in you, and in your skill, and in—your lucky star," the gentle voice replied, warmly and confidently. "The obstacles that chance and calumny place in your path do not mislead me,—you will succeed." She pointed towards the open door of the corner room. "Look at your little study; you can think and write there so comfortably, so secure from all interruption! Ah, I cannot help enjoying the thought of the time, short though it be, during which we can still be together and I can attend to your comfort——"
"Yes, aunt; but the retrenchments you have gradually been making lately in consequence of the unfortunate turn in my affairs must cease. I will not have you standing for hours upon the cold stone floor of a kitchen. You must send for our old cook to-day, if you can. There is no reason why you should not." He put his hand into his pocket, drew thence a heavy purse of gold, and poured out its contents upon the table.
The old lady clasped her hands in mute surprise at the golden stream rolling here and there upon her neat table cloth.
"It is a single fee, aunt," he said, with audible satisfaction; "our hard times are past." And, as he spoke, he turned and went into the corner room.
It was easy to see that his aunt longed to know more; but she asked no questions as to the cure or the patient whence came so large a sum of money.