As Leslie greeted her visitor with a look of inquiry, Doctor Bayless, standing by the bedside, with his back to Mamma, put a warning forefinger upon his lips, his eyes meeting Leslie’s with a glance full of meaning.
“Keep perfectly quiet, young woman,” he said in his best professional tone. And as Mamma presented a chair, he seated himself close beside the bed and bent over his patient, seemingly intent upon her symptoms.
Presently he turned toward Mamma.
“I must have warm water; prepare it at once.” Then rising, he followed Mamma to the door, saying in a low tone: “Your patient must have perfect quiet; let there be no loud noise about the house. Now the water, if you please, and make haste.”
He turned and went back to the bedside, seated himself as before, and taking one of the patient’s hands, seemed intently marking every pulse-beat. A look of deep concern rested upon his face; and Mamma closed the door softly and went about her task.
“Old un,” began Franz, “ye’re gittin’ careless—”
“Sh!” whispered Mamma; “no noise.”
But Franz, with a crafty leer, left his place at the table and tiptoed to the door, where he crouched, applying alternately his eye and his ear to the keyhole, while Mamma busied herself at the fire.
But Franz caught no word from the inner room, for Doctor Bayless never once opened his lips. The watcher could see his large form bending over the bed, with one hand slightly upraised as if holding a watch, the other resting upon the wrist of the patient.
But Leslie saw more than this. Locked in that strange calm, she saw the doctor’s hand go to his side, and take from a pocket a card which quite filled his palm.