"What do you mean?"
"She has a nasty little hacking cough—a chest cough—which I don't like; and there's a good deal of incipient fever about her."
"If there is anything wrong, for God's sake see to her at once!" cried
Daniel Granger. "Why didn't you speak of this before?"
"There was no appearance of fever until to-day. I didn't wish to worry her with medicines while she was anxious about the child; indeed, I thought the best cure for her would be the knowledge of his safety. But the cough is worse to-day; and I should certainly like to prescribe for her, if you will ask her to come in here and speak to me for a few minutes."
So Clarissa went into the dingy lodging-house sitting-room to see the doctor, wondering much that any one could be interested in such an insignificant matter as her health, now that her treasure was safe. She went reluctantly, murmuring that she was well enough—quite well now; and had hardly tottered into the room, when she sank down upon the sofa in a dead faint.
Daniel Granger looked on aghast while they revived her.
"What can have caused this?" he asked.
"My dear sir, you are surely not surprised," said Dr. Ormond. "Your wife has been sitting up with her child every night for nearly a month—the strain upon her, bodily and mental, has been enormous, and the reaction is of course trying. She will want a good deal of care, that is all. Come now," he went on cheerfully, as Clarissa opened her eyes, to find her head lying on Jane Target's shoulder, and her husband standing aloof regarding her with affrighted looks—"come now, my dear Mrs. Granger, cheer up; your little darling is safely over his troubles."
She burst into a flood of tears.
"They will take him away from me!" she sobbed.