Dr. Heriot paused in his restless walk.
'Will do well, I trust, with her youth, sound constitution, and your sister's good nursing. I was going to say,' he continued, turning to Mr. Lambert, 'that with your old horror of fevers, you would be glad if the others were to be removed from any possible contagion that might arise; though, as I have already told you, that I cannot pronounce decidedly whether it be the typhus mitior or the other; in a few hours the symptoms will be decided. But anyhow it is as well to be on the safe side, and Polly and Chriss can come to me; we can find plenty of room for Richard and Royal as well.'
'You need not arrange for me—I shall stay with my father and Aunt Milly,' returned Richard abruptly, tossing back the wave of dark hair that lay on his forehead, and pushing away his chair.
'Nay, Cardie, I shall not need you; and your aunt will find more leisure for her nursing if you are all off her hands. I shall be easier too. Heriot knows my old nervousness in this respect.
'I shall not leave you, father,' was Richard's sole rejoinder; but his father's affectionate and anxious glance was unperceived as he quickly gathered up the papers and left the room.
'I think Dick is right,' returned Dr. Heriot, cheerfully. 'The vicarage need not be cleared as though it were the pestilence. Now, Miss Lambert, I will give you a few directions, and then I must say good-night.'
When Mildred returned to her charge, she found Richard standing by the bedside, contemplating his sister with a grave, impassive face. Olive did not seem to notice him; she was moving restlessly on her pillow, her dark hair unbound and falling on her flushed face. Richard gathered it up gently and looked at his aunt.
'We may have to get rid of some of it to-morrow,' she whispered; 'what a pity, it is so long and beautiful; but it will prevent her losing all. You must not stay now, Richard; I fancy it disturbs her,' as Olive muttered something drowsily, and flung her arms about a little wildly; 'leave her to me to-night, dear; I will come to you first thing to-morrow morning, and tell you how she is.'
'Thank you,' he replied, gratefully.
Mildred was not wrong in her surmises that something like remorse for his unkindness made him stoop over the bed with the softly uttered 'Good-night, Livy.'