"Yes—thank you; I think I had become overpowered with the heat and fatigue."
"I was apprehensive of brain fever," said the doctor; "you talked so incoherently."
Rose's face instantly became suffused, and the doctor added kindly:
"Whatever I may have heard, is of course, safe with me, Rose."
"No one else heard?" she asked.
"No one. Your landlady is too deaf, and Chloe seemed absorbed in taking care of Charley, and preparing your medicines."
"Rose," said the doctor, "if my possession of your secret distresses you, suppose I give you one in exchange: I had, and have, no business in New Orleans, save to watch over you and yours. Every weary footstep of yours, my eye has tracked; nay, do not be angry with me, for how could love like mine abandon your helplessness in this great strange city? I am not about to weary you by a repetition of what you have already heard, or distress you by alluding to what you unconsciously revealed. I know that your heart is cold and benumbed; but Rose, it is not dead. You say you are grateful to me for what, after all, was mere selfishness on my part, for my greatest happiness was, though unseen, to be near you. I will be satisfied with that gratitude. Will you not accept for life, my services on those terms?" and the doctor drew his chair nearer to Rose, and took her hand in his own.
"You know not what you ask," mournfully replied Rose. "You are deceiving yourself. You think that in time, gratitude will ripen into a warmer feeling. I feel that this can never be. My heart has lost its spring; it is capable only of a calm, sisterly feeling, and the intensity of your love for me would lead you after awhile to weary of, and reject this; you would be a prey to chagrin and disappointment. How can I bring such a misery on the heart to whose kindness I owe so much?"
"Rose, you do not know me," said the doctor, passionately. "Do not judge me by other men. As far as my own happiness is concerned, I fearlessly encounter the risk."