"Are you sick?"
She did not answer. He laid his hand upon her cheek again.
"You have fever."
A low sigh was the only response.
"Does your head ache?"
Something was said in reply, but the ear of Mr. Dexter could not make out the words.
"Jessie! Jessie! Why don't you answer me? Are you sick?"
Mr. Dexter spoke with rising impatience. Still and silent as an effigy she remained. For a moment or two he strode about the room, and then went out abruptly. He came back in half an hour.
There lay his wife as he had left her, and without the appearance of having stirred. A shadow of deeper concern now fell upon his spirits. Bending over the bed, and laying his hand upon her face again, he perceived that it was not only flushed, but hotter than before. He spoke, but her ears seemed shut to his voice.
"Jessie! Jessie!" He moved her gently, turning her face towards him. Her eyes were closed, her lips shut firmly, and wearing an expression of pain, her forehead slightly contracted.