"Thee can be a bear if thee feels like it, but not another word to-night—not another syllable; am I not right, doctor?"
"Yes, I prescribe absolute quiet of mind and body; that and good living will bring you around in time. You've had a narrow graze of it, but if you will mind Mrs. Yocomb you will yet die of old age. Good-night."
My nurse gave me what she thought I needed, and darkened the room. But it was not so dark but that I saw a beautiful face in the doorway.
"Miss Warren," I exclaimed.
"It was Adah," said Mrs. Yocomb quietly; "she's been very anxious about thee."
"You are all so kind. Please thank her for me," I replied eagerly. "Mother, may I speak to Richard Morton?" asked a timid voice from the obscurity of the hallway.
"Not to-night, Adah—to-morrow." "Forgive me if I disobey you this once," I interrupted hastily. "Yes, Miss Adah, I want to thank you."
She came instantly to my side, and I held out my hand to her. I wondered why hers throbbed and trembled so strangely.
"It's I who should thank thee: I can never thank thee enough. Oh, I feared I might—I might never have a chance."
"There, Adah, thee mustn't say another word; Richard's too weak yet."