"Good," said I; "her nerves will be getting a little stronger. Can I see her?"
"Oh, yes; walk straight to her room."
As I entered, my patient was sitting up in bed, reading.
"Ah!" said I, after the customary salutations, "we are better this morning, eh?"
"Oh, doctor, is that you? I am glad you have come."
"What book is that?" I asked, at the same time looking at the title. "Ah! Shakespeare. That is Charles' favourite author."
"I know it, doctor. Oh, how often have we read it together; but now, alas!"
"Why alas?" asked I.
"Ah, doctor," she replied, shaking her head slowly, "I never see him now. You are curing him, and me, too. Of what value to me is a body in perfect health, when it imprisons within it a wounded soul?"
"Come, let me see if I can't bring some balm to the wounded soul," I said, producing from my pocket Charles' letter.