“Yes; but not now. It was a kind of fit you heard—nothing more. Now go. See that I am not disturbed. Perhaps I can sleep. There: you know there is no one here.”
“Yes, my dear, of course—of course. I ought to have known better; I know now. And you will try to sleep?”
“Yes—I promise you, yes.
“Let me go down and get something for you; tell me what, and the quantities.”
“Yes,” said North eagerly, for she seemed to be opening before him the gates of release from his life of horror; but he shook his head as he called to mind how familiar she was with his surgery, and that if he bade her mix what he wished, she would turn suspicious and refuse.
“What shall I do, my dear?” said the old woman tenderly.
“Nothing now,” he said; “sleep will be best. Let me go to sleep.”
The old housekeeper sighed; but she made no opposition, and let him gently lead her to the door and shut her out, where she stood with her apron to her eyes, listening for a few moments to the loud snap given by the lock, and the dull, low sound of his pacing feet.
Then the old woman seemed to change.
She let fall her apron and tightened her lips. Her eyes grew keen and eager, and she gazed straight before her, deep in thought.