“Yes; so Mr Delton said, and he also said, my dear sir, that you too must have rest; your sister, recovering from her own illness, cannot afford to have two invalids on her hands.”
Salis looked up, and held out his hand to the old doctor, who had uttered the words softly, as doctors do: “You have hardly had a good night’s rest since you left.”
“I have not been to bed,” said Salis simply. “There, I will try and sleep now.”
The doctor made Mary a sign, and she drew back as Salis closed his eyes, and the breakfast which had been prepared as he drove in that morning from King’s Hampton after travelling all night remained untasted.
That was at seven o’clock, and it was seven at night when he awoke to look sharply round, and see Mary at the head of the couch.
“I—where am—? Have I been asleep?”
“Yes,” said Mary softly.
“Hah!” he ejaculated, springing up. “I have done all I could, Mary,” he said almost appealingly. “I think they are married. It’s a proud thing for us, dear, to have a lady of title for sister,” he added bitterly, as he took Mary to his heart, and she felt it throbbing with his emotion.
“There,” he said, after a few minutes’ struggle, “now for other duties. I still have you.”
The pressure of Mary’s hand spoke more than words, and the poor fellow sat at last, feeling that, after all, there were great compensations in life.