“Quite delirious,” he said quickly. “I hope North will not be long. I thought he would have been here this morning.”
He was busy as he spoke preparing for a task which he had performed twice daily since Mary’s convalescence. For, taking her in his arms as easily as if she had been a child, he bore her out of the room and up to Leo’s door.
As Mary, trembling with anxiety, pressed it open, Leo uttered an angry cry, dashed forward, and thrust the door back in her face.
“No, no!” she said hoarsely; “not you. Let me be. Let me rest in peace.”
“But Leo, dear, you are ill.”
“I am not ill,” she cried fiercely. “Go away!”
“Don’t irritate her,” whispered Salis gently. “Leo, dear, Mary will be in her own room. Lie down now.”
The phase of gentleness had passed, and Leo turned upon him almost savagely, in her furious contempt.
“Lie down! Lie down! as if I were a dog! Oh! there must be an end to this. There must be an end to this.”
She had partly opened the door so as to speak to her brother, but now she closed it loudly, and they heard her walking excitedly to and fro.