At length, Althea's eyes opened, glanced hastily around and closed again. Dr. Hardy was not surprised. For the last half hour he had been expecting this, but he had given no sign. When her eyes again opened, he put some drops to her lips, which she readily swallowed. By-and-bye she gave a look of thorough consciousness, accompanied with an effort to speak.
Again, in an hour, she looked earnestly at Dr. Hardy, and moved her lips. He bent low to listen, and only himself caught her words: "Send for the priest."
Dr. Hardy frowned. Was this old anxiety going yet to ruin all? Couldn't she die or live without the priest?
"You are going to get well now," he whispered in reply.
"Send for Father Ryan, for God's sake," she again repeated, so forcibly that Kitty caught the words.
"I will go for him," she said eagerly, but the doctor interfered.
"No, I will see Mr. Rush;" for the anger of that man and his future hostility was not a pleasing prospective to the easy-going doctor, ever ready to propitiate.
Mr. Rush was like a lion, aroused from his sleep, in which he had found temporary oblivion of a torturing headache.
The doctor's words were not audible in the sick room, but Kitty distinctly heard the reply of Thornton Rush:
"I tell you I don't care. I don't believe it will make the least difference. If she has a mind to worry, let her worry; I won't have a Catholic priest in the house. I'll have the devil first. If she is going to live, she will live, anyhow. I have never thought she would die yet. For God's sake, let me alone, and don't waken me again, no matter what happens."