He spoke with heat and feeling. Miss Vesta's eyes were full of tenderness as she raised them to his.
"You are so kind, James!" she said. "No one ever had a kinder or more faithful friend; of that I am sure. But you must never think that, about my being alone. I am never alone; almost never—at least, not so very often, even lonely. I live with a whole life-full of blessed memories. Besides, I have Aunt Marcia. She needs me more and more, and by and by, when her marvellous strength begins to fail,—for it must fail,—she will need me constantly. I can never, never feel alone while Aunt Marcia lives."
"Hum!" said Doctor Stedman. "Well, good-by! Poison Maria's tea, and I'll let you off with that. I'll send you up a powder of corrosive sublimate in the morning—there! there! don't look horrified. You never can understand—or I never can. I mean, I'll send you some bromide for yourself. Don't tell me that you are sleeping well, for I know better. Good-by, my dear!"
CHAPTER XVI.
DOCTOR STEDMAN'S PATIENT
Bright and early the next morning, Mrs. Pryor presented herself at Mrs. Tree's door. It was another Indian summer morning, mild and soft. As she came up the street, Mrs. Pryor had seen, or thought she had seen, a figure sitting in the wicker rocking-chair on the porch. The chair was empty now, but it was rocking—perhaps with the wind.
Direxia Hawkes answered the visitor's knock.
"How do you do, Direxia?" said Mrs. Pryor, in sprightly tones. "You remember me, of course,—Miss Maria. Will you tell Mrs. Tree that I have come, please?"
She made a motion to enter, but Direxia stood in the doorway, grim and forbidding.
"Mis' Tree can't see anybody this morning," she said.