“I feel very weak; for the last three days I have only taken a little broth and chocolate.”
At these words her face fell, and she began to weep.
After a moment’s silence she went to my desk, took a pen, and wrote a few lines, which she brought to me. They were,—
“Dear, if a large sum of money, beyond what my father owes you, can remove or even soothe your grief I can be your doctor, and you ought to know that your accepting my treatment would make me happy.”
I took her hands and kissed them affectionately, saying,—
“No, dear Esther, generous Esther, it is not money I want, for if I did I would ask you and your father as a friend: what I want, and what no one can give me, is a resolute mind, and determination to act for the best.”
“Ask advice of your oracle.”
I could not help laughing.
“Why do you laugh?” said she, “if I am not mistaken, the oracle must know a remedy for your woes.”
“I laughed, dearest, because I felt inclined to tell you to consult the oracle this time. As for me I will have nothing to do with it, lest the cure be worse than the disease.”