"My lady," said he, "you must be more careful of yourself for the sake of others. Lord Chetwynde is weak yet, and though his symptoms are favorable, yet he requires the greatest care."
"And do you have hope of him?" asked Hilda, eagerly. This was the one thought of her mind.
"I do have hope," said the doctor.
Hilda looked at him gratefully.
"At present," said the doctor, "you must not think or talk about any thing. Above all, you must restrain your feelings. It is your anxiety about Lord Chetwynde that is killing you. Save yourself for his sake."
"But may I not be carried into his room?" pleaded Hilda, in imploring tones.
"No; not to-day. Leave it to me. Believe me, my lady, I am anxious for his recovery and for yours. His recovery depends most of all upon you."
"Yes," said Hilda, in a faint voice; "far more than you know. There is a medicine which he must have."
"He has been taking it through all his sickness. I have not allowed that to be neglected," said the doctor.
"You have administered that?"