"My dear Miss Ringgan," said the doctor, as they reached the ground and the outer air, "what was it? the stove too powerful? You are looking you are of a dreadfully delicate appearance!"
"I had a headache yesterday," said Fleda; "it always leaves me with a disagreeable reminder the next day. I am not ill."
But he looked frightened, and hurried her, as fast as he dared, to the steamboat; and there proposed half a dozen restoratives, the simplest of which Fleda took, and then sought delicious rest from him and from herself on the cushions of a settee. Delicious! though she was alone, in the cabin of a steamboat, with strange forms and noisy tongues around her, the closed eyelids shut it out all; and she had time but for one resting thought of "patient continuance in well-doing," and one happy heart-look up to Him who has said that he cares for his children, a look that laid her anxieties down there when past misery and future difficulty faded away before a sleep that lasted till the vessel reached her moorings and was made fast.
She was too weary and faint even to think during the long drive up to Bleecker Street. She was fain to let it all go the work she had to do, and the way she must set about it, and rest in the assurance that nothing could be done that night. She did not so much as hear Dr. Quackenboss's observations, though she answered a few of them, till, at the door, she was conscious of his promising to see her to-morrow, and of her instant conclusion to take measures to see nobody.
How strange everything seemed! She walked through the familiar hall, feeling as if her acquaintance with every old thing was broken. There was no light in the back parlour, but a comfortable fire.
"Is my is Dr. Gregory at home?" she asked of the girl who had let her in.
"No, Ma'am; he hasn't got back from Philadelphia."
"Tell Mrs. Pritchard a lady wants to see her."
Good Mrs. Pritchard was much more frightened than Dr. Quackenboss had been when she came into the back parlour to see "a lady," and found Fleda in. the great arm-chair, taking off her things. She poured out questions, wonderings, and lamentings, not "in a breath," but in a great many; quite forgot to be glad to see her, she looked so dreadfully; and "what had been the matter?" Fleda answered her told of yesterday's illness and to-day's journey; and met all her shocked inquiries with so composed a face, and such a calm smile and bearing, that Mrs. Pritchard was almost persuaded not to believe her eyes.
"My uncle is not at home?"