“Of course; there is no disease. Weakness is the only trouble now.”
“Weakness the only trouble now! Rob—Rob—my own dear boy!”
She sank upon her knees, and as he saw her action, Chester tried to check her. But she gave him a reproachful glance, and passed her soft white arms about the patient’s head, but without touching him; and the loving kiss she breathed, as it were, upon his lips. Then she rose, sobbing gently, with all the strength of her mind and force of action seeming to have passed away, as with outstretched hands she caught at the nearest object to save herself from falling.
That nearest object was Chester; and the next moment she was weeping in his arms.
“You have given him back to me,” she sobbed, her voice little above a whisper. “You have saved him. How can I ever repay you for what you have done?”
The minute before he had been strong; now as he felt the sobs rising from the labouring breast, and clasped her throbbing, palpitating form closer and—closer,—“Marion!”
Her name—nothing more; but he felt her tremble in his arms and hang more heavily as her head sank slowly back, bringing her lips nearer his; and the next moment she uttered a low sigh, breathed in their lengthened kiss.
“Out of what comedy is this, doctor?” said a harsh, familiar voice; and as they started angrily apart, Jem, as they called him, advanced quickly from the silently opened door, straight towards Marion, upon whom he fixed his fierce eyes, as he spoke to her companion. “French, I suppose—a translation. I congratulate you, doctor—both of you. It was so real—so passionately grand. And you,” he literally hissed now, “most loving sister! Pour passer le temps, of course. The ennui of long nursing. Curse you!” he whispered savagely, as he stopped before her, and with a quick movement caught her by the wrist.
The next moment he uttered a hoarse cry of rage, for, stung to madness by the brutal act, Chester sprang at him, forcing him back over the table before which he stood, while Marion was flung aside.