A faint laugh broke from the woman in the bed.
"What an easy order to give, and what a hard one to carry out," she said; "but—I will promise—to try and keep my mind at rest—as far as possible," she added under her breath; "and you are taking poor Marion where she will be safe and well cared for?"
"I am taking her where she will do no one any harm," Fergusson answered grimly, "and I will bring your servant back as soon as I can. She is a treasure, that servant of yours."
"I think she is worth her weight in gold," was the quiet answer; "she is more than servant; she is a friend—a faithful, loyal friend."
"You are fortunate to have found such an one," Fergusson smiled, "and now I must go and get that poor soul away; and Miss Moore will keep you company, and take care of you, until I bring your servant back."
As he spoke the last words he was gone, closing the door softly behind him, and carrying with him some of the sense of health-giving strength and vitality, with which his very presence seemed to fill the room.
Unusual as was the position in which she found herself, Christina had sufficient perception to see that the nerves of the woman she had come to tend, were already stretched to breaking point, and that a normal manner, and matter-of-fact way of taking the situation for granted, would do more than anything else to relieve the tension.
She took off her hat and cloak, therefore, with quiet deliberation, unrolled the dressing-gown she had brought with her, and was proceeding to hang it over a chair before the fire, when her patient said suddenly:
"Watch them go; tell me when they have gone. Tell me when you and I are alone."
Christina moved from the fire to the bedside.