So Leucha, the hopelessly naughty one, was established in the sickroom. Oh, how happy she felt again; how glad, how more than glad, that Hollyhock should have called out to her in her illness and trouble!
CHAPTER XXVIII.
WHAT LOVE CAN DO.
Why and wherefore the fever went down and the girl got better no one could quite tell. Of course, it was supposed to be the work of Leucha, and perhaps in a measure it was; for when a very warm heart longs for one thing, and that thing is denied her by passion, ill-temper, and spite, and then at the critical moment—the most critical moment of all—is given to her, the effect cannot but be immense. It began by a great soothing, a happy light in the troubled eyes, a smile round the sweet, nobly formed lips, the words coming again and yet again, 'Leuchy, Leuchy, I have got you, after all!'
In less than a week Hollyhock was quite out of danger. She recognised her father; she recognised Jasper; she recognised dear Aunt Cecilia. She was gentle and sweet to every one. Only once she asked in an anxious tone, 'Leuchy, is my Lightning Speed all right?'
'Oh yes, you may be sure of that,' replied Leucha. 'There never was a horse so fussed over.'
'Then I 'm happy,' whispered Hollyhock. 'Hold my hand, Leuchy.' Leucha did so, and the sick girl dreamt happy dreams, during which her fever quite departed.
The doctors—for the Duke insisted on their coming constantly—said that it was a strange and remarkable case of recovery by the power of love. They looked with a puzzled expression at the object of that love, but held their peace, for Leucha had done what none of them could have achieved.
Just before Christmas-time the Duke of Ardshiel insisted on having an interview with Hollyhock.