But they were somewhat mistaken. Arthur had not yet breathed a word of love to his young patient, and she thought of him only as her dear, kind doctor, who had done much to relieve her sufferings and had in all probability saved her life. She had strong confidence in his skill and was a perfectly tractable and obedient patient. He assisted her to her room that evening, as usual, more than an hour before any but the younger children were ready to retire.
It was a beautiful moonlight evening, and the porches, where most of the family were gathered, looked very inviting as he came down again and stepped out upon the one that ran along the front of the house.
His Cousin Elsie invited him to an easy-chair by her side, then presently proposed that they two should stroll around the porches together. He caught gladly at the suggestion, rose and offered her his arm.
“I want a little private chat with you, Art,” she said, smiling brightly up into his face.
“I am always glad to talk with you, cousin,” he returned, giving her an affectionate yet keenly scrutinizing look, “but I hope it is not of any serious ailment you have to tell me.”
“Oh, no! I am thankful to be able to say that I and all my near and dear ones are in perfect health so far as I know. It is of yourself and your dear young patient I would speak. Marian is a sweet girl, lovely in both character and person.”
“So I think. Ah, cousin, if I were only some years younger!”
“Never mind that, Art; you are young in looks and feeling, and I doubt if there is any one nearer and dearer to her now than yourself. She thinks her feeling for you is only the gratitude and affection any patient might feel for a kind, attentive, sympathizing physician, but I am much mistaken if on hearing the story of your love from your lips she will fail to discover that she loves you as a woman should the man to whom she gives her hand.”
“Do you really think so, cousin?” he asked with a bright, glad smile.