It had all seemed so easy to say in his own room. Here it was terrible.
Mary’s heart began to flutter, and a piteous look came into her eyes; but she closed them gently, and a tear slowly welled through from each.
“Well, what is it? Nothing fresh about Tom Candlish, I hope?”
“About him? No; nonsense! I wanted to tell you that there is no further need for me to attend your sister,” Slid the doctor clumsily. “She is nearly well now, and—”
“My dear Horace, you have saved her life!”
“No, no; nonsense! Only did as any other medical man would have done.”
“I say she owes you her life, and it will be Leo’s duty to remember that, and to strive henceforth to render back to you—”
“If she only will!” cried North excitedly, as he sprang up and clasped his old friend’s hand.
For the ice was broken. He could speak now, and as Mary looked up through a mist of blinding tears he seemed to her like the hero she had always painted—as the man whom some day she might love. But for her love was dead.
“Why, Horace, old man, what do you mean?” cried Salis, as Mary fought down a wail of agony which strove to escape her lips.