At the door of the sick-room Doctor Campbell stood waiting for me. He put out both hands eagerly and clasped mine. When we are condoling with one another in such hours as this, we throw off the restraint of conventionality and stand before one another, as two human souls, bound by the holy ties of an earnest sympathy; the question of ordinary decorum becomes suspended, while we weep with our afflicted brother and sister, and we call one another tenderly and respectfully by name, though the next moment we must be distant and reserved as before.
Doctor Campbell led me quietly into the room where my father lay prostrate, the victim of a dreadful illness. There was hardly any change discernible in his placid features, only a haggard line about his mouth that told of inward pain and struggle. His face was a little flushed and his breathing labored. He opened his eyes so, we approached the bed and smiled at me. Doctor Campbell seeing that he recognized me stole from the room and left us alone.
"Poor Amey!" Were the first faint words he uttered closing his eyes wearily again.
"Do you feel any better?" I asked bending over him and touching my lips to his brow.
He shook his head on the pillow and muttered feebly:
"It's all over with me, child, only a matter of time."
"Maybe not, father" I argued, but with little confidence. There was something ominous in his changed expression, something that smote my heart with a solemn fear as I looked with anxious scrutiny upon him. I stole from the room for a moment, and went in search of Doctor Campbell. He was in the library standing before the book shelves when I entered.
"I want to know Doctor," said I, full of my purpose, "whether my father is in danger of immediate death."
He started at my question and turned quickly around.
"I am afraid that his chances of life are few indeed Amey," he answered earnestly. "Perhaps it is as well to let you know."