“Heaven grant that he may, my dear,” said Justin, humoring what he supposed to be the fancy of a weak invalid, but recollecting with a pang the body removed from its humble grave on the battle-field of Bull Run, and interred in the family burial lot in the cemetery at Washington.
“I am not strong enough now to tell you how I know this; but I will explain it in a day or two.”
“You shall take your own time, love,” said Justin.
So quietly they conversed together until the entrance of the doctor.
He had been received by poor, old, stupid Frederica, who had omitted to tell him the good news about his patient, probably under the impression that he was fully aware of Erminie’s condition. And he had not made the usual inquiry of “How is Miss Rosenthal this morning?” because he shrunk from asking the question until he should reach the sick room. He had not seen the other members of the family, and so he came into Erminie’s presence all unenlightened as to the favorable change in her condition.
And the first thing he saw was Erminie, propped up on pillows, conversing cheerfully with her brother.
“Bless us! here is a change!” he exclaimed, with a smile, as he walked up to the bedside. “How are we this morning?” he asked, taking the chair vacated for him by Justin, and feeling the pulse of his patient.
“Getting well as fast as possible, Doctor,” smiled Erminie.
“Yes, yes, we are getting well fast! We can relish a little chicken broth this morning, can we not?”
“I think we can,” she answered.