"No, Travice, you had better not rise," interposed Mrs. Arkell, for he was struggling into a sitting position. "Barbara will excuse it; she knows how weak you are."
"And I'll not allow you to rise, that's more," said Barbara, laying her hand upon him. "I am not come to make you worse, but to make you better—if I can."
Mrs. Arkell, not altogether easy yet upon the feelings of Travice as to the visit, anxious, as we all are with anything on our consciences, to get away, invited Barbara to a chair, and hastened from the room. Travice tried to receive her as he ought, and put out his hand with a wan smile.
"How are you, Barbara?"
There was no reply, except that the thin hand was taken between both of hers. He looked up, and saw that her eyes were swimming in tears. A moment's struggle, and they came forth, with a burst.
"There! it's of no good. What a fool I am!"
Just a minute or two's indulgence to the burst, and it was over. Miss Fauntleroy rubbed away the traces, and her broad face wore its smiles again. She drew a chair close, and sat down in front of him.
"I was not prepared to see you look like this, Travice. How dreadfully it has pulled you down!"
She was gazing at his face as she spoke. Her entrance had not called up anything of colour or emotion to illumine it. The transparent skin was drawn over the delicate features, and the refinement, always characterizing it, was more conspicuous than it had ever been. No two faces, perhaps, could present a greater contrast than his did, with the broad, vulgar, hearty, and in a sense, handsome one of hers.
"Yes, it has pulled me down. At one period there was little chance of my life, I believe. But they no doubt told you all at the time. I daresay you knew more of the different stages of the danger than I did."