“Indeed you must not be grieved, or think me ungrateful,” she pleaded. “It would not be right. It would break Archie’s heart to part from me now.”
And so they let her go. Dr Gordon did not speak to her, but he held her hand firmly as they passed down the street. Lilias thought he was angry at her decision; but he was not angry. He was only grieved. When they reached the door, she lingered.
“Indeed, sir, I could not do any other way; and, if you please, don’t tell my aunt all you have said to me to-night: she might think I would be sorry afterwards, and I wish you wouldn’t tell her.”
“Well, child, I will not tell her, since it is your wish. But remember, if any trouble comes upon you, you must write and let me know.” And Lilias joyfully assented to the condition.
The doctor’s visit comforted them all greatly. Archie’s case he thought by no means so hopeless as he had once thought it. True, he might still be lame; but he might be strong and healthy for all that. The fresh air of the hills would, he believed, work wonders for him: so he bade him take heart; and the poor lad’s pale face brightened as he said it.
To Mrs Blair he spoke of her brother in terms of respect and affection that won her confidence at once; and when he earnestly entreated her to consider him as a friend to the children, and to apply to him if trouble should overtake them, she promised to do so, without hesitation or reserve.
When he bade “good-bye” to Lilias, he took her face between his hands and kissed her many times on lip and brow, calling her a firm little thing, though she seemed so gentle; and then he prayed, “God bless her,” and they were left alone.