"That thou wilt return on the morrow to Shottery. London is no place for thee now."
"I will go," answered the girl; "though I would fain take care of thee here, Nick."
"That thou must not think of," he replied. "I will fare—as God wills. Go thou home to Shottery."
The physician crossed over to them and laid his white fingers on Berwick's wrist.
"Thou dost seem set upon undoing my work," he said. "Art so over-ready to die, Master Berwick? One more swoon like the last and thou would'st sleep on."
"He will talk no more, good Doctor," said Debora, hastily. "Ah! thou wilt be kind to him, I pray thee? And now I will away, as 'tis best, but my brother will stay, and carry out thy orders. Nay, Nick, thou must not even say good-bye or move thy lips. I will go back to Dame Blossom quite safely in the coach."
"An' to Shottery on the morrow?" he whispered.
"Ay!" she said, looking at him with tear-blinded eyes, "as thou wilt have it so."