Leger himself had never been to the house, and knew nothing in particular of its inmates. His father had been their physician, and he was now summoned to fill the place of the departed. Upon entering the chamber of the sick lady, he saw at once that she was beyond the aid of humanity; she seemed, herself, to be aware of it, for she said, as he approached her bed:
"I am sensible that you can do nothing for me, Doctor. I would not have troubled you, if my child had not insisted upon it. Annie?"
At the call of that dying voice, strangely thrilling and clear, a young girl upon the opposite side of the bed raised her head from where it had been hidden in the pillow, and looked at him with eyes which asked the question her grieving lips refused to utter. She was the only relative by the bed of death—an old nurse dozing in a chair, and the servant who had admitted him, lingering by the door, as loth to go, being her only attendants.
As he looked at the forlorn young creature and met her despairing eyes, a feeling of pity, that was absolute anguish, seized upon the heart of Dr. Carollyn. The circumstances reminded him so vividly of his own recent bereavement, when he stood sole mourner by a parent's dying bed, that his deepest sympathies were aroused. He passed around to her side, and lifting her nerveless hand pressed it in his own, as he said, in answer to her mute appeal:
"You must resign your mother, my dear child; but God will still be with you."
The dying woman detected the tremble in his tone—it seemed as if some glimpse of the future revealed itself to her in that moment; she said, in the same clear voice:
"You are like your father, Dr. Carollyn. He was always one of my best friends. I hope that you will be a friend to my child, for she has not many. I am willing to trust her to you. She has neither father or brother. She will not be dependent, except for friendship. She is so young, so unused to doing for herself—ah, it is hard to leave you alone, my Annie, but I leave you with God. Annie—Annie—be calm. I am."
The Doctor saw that the final moment would soon arrive, and felt as if he ought not to leave that fragile young thing to bear the shock alone. He remained, until, in the gray dawn, the spirit left earth, and the desolate child sunk fainting into his arms.
When he had revived her, and restored her to the nurse, and to the female servant, who seemed much attached to her, he asked if there were no friends for whom he could send.