"That is my dear, brave, dutiful girl! Come, Clara!" replied the young man, taking her hand and leading her up to the bed-chamber of the doctor. They met Mrs. Rocke at the door, who tearfully signed them to go in as she left it.
When they entered and approached the bedside, Traverse saw that the suffering but heroic father must have made some superlative effort before he could have reduced his haggard face and writhing form to its present state of placid repose, to meet his daughter's eyes and spare her feelings.
She, on her part, was no less firm. Kneeling beside his couch, she took his hand and met his eye composedly as she asked:
"Dear father, how do you feel now?"
"Not just so easy, love, as if I had laid me down here for an afternoon's nap, yet in no more pain than I can very well bear."
"Dear father, what can I do for you?"
"You may bathe my forehead and lips with cologne, my dear," said the doctor, not so much for the sake of the reviving perfume, as because he knew it would comfort Clara to feel that she was doing something, however slight, for him.
Traverse stood upon the opposite side of the bed fanning him.
In a few moments Mrs. Rocke re-entered the room, announcing that the two old physicians from Staunton, Doctor Dawson and Doctor Williams, had arrived.
"Show them up, Mrs. Rocke. Clara, love, retire while the physicians remain with me," said Doctor Day.