"Go and take some rest," she said in a whisper. "The crisis has passed. He will live."
Dr. Horton's recovery was not rapid, but it was sure.
From the hour of his return to consciousness, Lilly O'Connell had not entered his room.
When a week had passed, he ventured to question his faithful attendant, Widow Gatchell, in regard to her. For twenty-four hours he had missed the step and voice he had believed to be hers, passing and repassing the hall outside his door. The old woman turned her back abruptly and began stirring the already cheerful fire.
"She ain't quite so well to-day," she answered, in a constrained voice.
The young man raised his head.
"Do you mean that she is sick?" he asked hastily.
"She was took down last night," the widow answered, hesitating, and would have left the room; but the young man beckoned her, and she went to his side.
"Let everything possible be done for her," he said. "You understand—everything that can be done. Let Mason attend to me."
"I'll do my part," the old nurse answered, in the peculiarly dry tone with which she was accustomed to veil her emotions.