“Well?” he said, in a tone of the deepest anxiety.
“The disease has worn itself out. Mrs. Coverdale is free from fever, and the only thing we have now to fear is weakness,” was the doctor’s reply. “She must be kept perfectly quiet both in mind and body for some days. When she wakes in the morning, throw a cape or something over that arm of yours; it might give her a shock if she were to perceive it suddenly. It is a very favourable symptom her having recovered consciousness so completely,—in fact, the case is going on as well as, under the circumstances, I conceive to be possible.”
“Thank God!” was all the reply Harry could make; but as Alice, with her hand in his, fell into a sound, refreshing slumber, his whole soul poured itself out in silent but heartfelt thanksgiving to the Father of all mercies, who had accepted his penitence, and again entrusted to his care the tender flower which, in his inconsiderate carelessness, he had once neglected.
When Emily came down to breakfast on the following morning, she quite started with pleased surprise to perceive the bright, happy expression, of her brother-in-law’s countenance.
“I need not ask whether Alice is better,” she began; “I can read it in your face. But has any great change taken place since yesterday?”
In reply to her question, Harry told her all—told her even more than he had ever confessed to himself—how, day by day, his hopes had diminished and his fears increased, until, after the physician’s caution on the previous morning, he had made up his mind that the medical men considered Alice dying; how he had concealed from her that the crisis of the complaint was at hand, and how he had passed the night in an agony of trembling expectation, longing for and yet dreading the moment in which she should awake; together with his delight when he heard her pronounce his name.
Lord Alfred Courtland set off in high glee for Hazlehurst Grange, certain of a hearty welcome, as bearer of such good tidings, and happier, as he declared, than he had felt for the last six months.
A week passed away. For two or three days, Alice appeared to progress favourably—as favourably as even her husband’s anxiety could desire. She knew every one, and conversed reasonably upon all subjects; but with the return of consciousness, a settled melancholy appeared to have taken possession of her. This, together with her extreme weakness, gave uneasiness alike to her indefatigable nurses, Harry and Emily, and to Dr. Gouger. Taking Harry aside one morning, he began—
“There are symptoms about Mrs. Coverdale which I cannot understand, and which appear to me more mental than bodily. They are retarding her recovery; and if you could ascertain the cause, and were able to remove it, I do not hesitate to tell you that you would prove a more effectual physician than I, or any one else, can be to her; but you must bear in mind her state of extreme debility; she is not fit to discuss any exciting topic at present.”
“Then how would you recommend me to proceed?” inquired Harry, the doctor’s warning having impressed him with two diametrically opposite ideas:—first, that it behoved him to ascertain whether anything, and (if anything) what, was preying upon his wife’s mind; and, secondly, that by so doing, he should probably lead her to talk on some exciting subject, which, in her present weak state, was the thing of all others to be avoided. How were these difficulties to be reconciled?