The lady took her ten drops at nine, and felt so much better that she could not help telling her husband all about her visit to Doctor R——.
The next morning proved cloudy, and Mrs. Waldorf felt rather languid, but, after her dose, found an improved appetite for breakfast. She sat down to her music, but looked frequently at the clouds and at her watch, thinking of her appointment. When the hour arrived the envious skies poured down such showers as will damp any body’s ardor. The drive must be given up for that day, and it passed as usual, with only the interlude of the magic drops.
The next day was as bad, and the day after not a great deal better. Mrs. Waldorf’s pains and palpitations almost discouraged her. She was quite sure she had a liver complaint. But on the fourth morning the sun rose gloriously, and the face of nature, clean washed, shone with renewed beauty. At eleven the carriage and the lady were at Doctor R——’s door.
“Have you courage to see an invalid—a sad sufferer?” said the doctor.
“Oh, certainly! I am an invalid myself, you know.”
“Ah! my dear lady, my invalid wears a different aspect! Yet I hope she is going to recover, and I shall trust to your humanity if the scene prove a sad one. Sickness of the mind was, I think, the origin of the evil, but it has almost overpowered the frail body. This young lady and her mother have been giving lessons in music and in Italian, and have had but slender success in the whirl of competition. As nearly as I can discover, they came to this country hoping to find reverse of fortune easier to bear among strangers; and their course was determined hitherward in consequence of earlier family troubles which drove a son of Madame Vamiglia to America. He was a liberal, and both displeased his father and put himself in danger from government, by some unsuccessful attempt at home. The father is since dead, and the old lady and her daughter, left in poverty and loneliness, determined on following the young man to the new world. But here we are.”
And they stopped before a small house in a back street. Mrs. Waldorf was shown into a very humble parlor, while the doctor went to prepare his patient. He returned presently with Madame Vamiglia, a well-bred woman past middle age. She expressed her grateful sense of Mrs. Waldorf’s kindness, but their communication was rather pantomimical, for the lady found her song-Italian of little service, and the signora had not much conversational English. However, with some French, and occasional aid from Doctor R——, their acquaintance was somewhat ripened before they went to the bedside of the sufferer. Mrs. Waldorf turned pale, and felt ready to faint, at the sight which presented itself.
There was a low, narrow couch in the centre of the room, scarce larger than an infant’s crib, and on it lay what seemed a mere remnant of mortality. Large dark eyes, full of a sort of preternatural light, alone spoke of life and motion. The figure had been always extremely small, and was now wasted till it scarce lifted the light covering of the mattress. Madame Vamiglia went forward and spoke in a low tone to her daughter, and Mrs. Waldorf was glad to sink into the chair set for her by Doctor R——. The ghastly appearance of the poor girl had quite unwomaned her.
The mother introduced her guest to her daughter, who could only look an acknowledgment; and then asked the doctor if he thought it possible that Ippolita could bear the motion of a carriage.
“She seems weaker to-day,” he replied; “very weak indeed. Yet, if Mrs. Waldorf will allow the mattress to be put in, I think we may venture.”