"Oh, but--papa--you are getting better!"
She checked the wailing tone; she remembered how necessary, as she had been warned, was calmness in that room; she remembered her promise to maintain it. She pressed her hands upon her bosom and remained still.
"I will take that draught now, Sara, if you will pour it out."
She rose from her seat, undid the paper, poured the contents of the small bottle into the glass, and handed it to him. The doctor drank it, and gave her back the glass with a smile.
"Not one of those clever fellows thought of ordering me this; yet it's the best thing for anybody suffering as I am. Ah! they have got something to learn yet. I don't know how they'll get on without me?"
"Papa, you may get well yet!" she interrupted; anti she could not prevent the anguished sound with which the words were spoken.
He turned and looked at her; he seemed to have fallen into a momentary reverie. But he made no direct answer.
"Can you draw the table away, Sara? I don't want it so close now. Gently; take care of the lamp."
"Where shall I put this, papa?" she asked, referring to the letter.
"In my desk in the next room. You'll know where to find it in case of need. My keys are here, on the mantelpiece."