“And have you not seen him since?” asked Ellen in surprise.
“Oh, no! I think the sooner such people die the better. They have no enjoyment themselves, and are a burden to others. And as to his being removed to the main-building, a raging maniac—that cannot be thought of.”
“I do not see,” persisted Ellen, “what objection can possibly be urged to removing a dying man to a comfortable room, even if he be a raging maniac.”
“Really! Miss Lincoln,” said Doctor L. with a meaning smile, “you seem to have taken a very deep interest in the handsome stranger.”
Ellen raised her full eyes upon him, and while a smile of pitying contempt cradled about her mouth, said calmly—“The suffering, doctor, always excite the sympathies of the humane, and I trust I am of that class.”
And turning to the unconscious sufferer, she continued bathing his wrists and temples, as if to hide her emotion, while a tear trembled upon her downcast lids.
“Let us go from here, Cousin Ellen,” whispered Lucy, “we can do the poor man no good.”
“Dear Lucy,” said Ellen rising, “I cannot go and leave this poor creature without a soul near him in his last moments—and this good woman tells me that he has been pleading for some one to pray for him, which proves that reason has, at times, resumed her throne. And if uncle will consent, I will remain here, while Mr. Barker sends for the Rev. Mr. P., whose ear is ever open to the call of distress.”
“But, Ellen, it is growing late, and you will be subject to remark.”
“Lucy,” she continued, “it is well to regard the world’s opinion when it combats not with duty, but if the world remark unjustly, when I do my duty, be it even so. But what say you, uncle, shall I not stay?”