“And quite right in you, my dear. I believe that he is worthy of you, with the exception of that cranky jealousy of his. But that in time may evaporate, especially if you do not give him just cause to indulge in it.”
“I never will. But tell me, doctor, do you think she will sleep much longer? And when she awakes——”
The doctor rose abruptly, drawing his hand across his eyes as though to clear away a mist.
“We must leave that to God, my child,” he said, solemnly. “All that human skill can do has been done. We can only hope and pray. But if the worst comes, you must not forget that there is a Comforter, a Refuge for us in our sorrow. But, oh, my God! it will be a bitter, heart-breaking grief to me!”
He broke down completely and sobbed like a child. All at once he started up.
“Violet, forgive me!” he cried. “But I love her so dearly, and I have controlled my feelings for so long! Listen! I thought I heard a sound in her room.”
He crept softly to the door of the room where that poor wreck lay alone, and stooping, applied his ear to the key-hole, while he listened attentively.
“Yes,” he whispered, after a moment’s silence; “I really believe that the crisis is come, and that she is awaking. Now, Violet, my child, a great deal depends upon you and your power of self-control. Go into the room as though nothing had happened, as though you were both at home at The Oaks, and—see how she is.”
It was an awful ordeal, but the girl nerved herself to endure it. Pale as marble, and shaking with nervous excitement which she bravely conquered at length, Violet opened the door and entered the room.
A pause of silence ensued, during which Doctor Danton and Dunbar, in the other room, could hear the throbbing of their own hearts—a long, awful silence, yet in truth, it did not last three seconds; then—then there was a slight movement as the sick woman raised herself slowly from the pillows; then a wild exclamation, “Violet, my child!” a stifled cry of “Mamma! oh, mamma!” and the two listeners knew that all was well.