CHAPTER XI.
"In vain she seeks to close her weary eyes,Those eyes still swim incessantly in tears--Hope in her cheerless bosom fading dies,Distracted by a thousand cruel fears,While banish'd from his love forever she appears."
MRS. TIGHE'S PSYCHE.
When thus alone the little Elsie fell upon her knees, weeping andsobbing. "Oh!" she groaned, "I cannot, _cannot_ bear it!"
Then she thought of the agony in the garden, and that bitter cry,"Father, if it be possible, let this cup pass from me!" followed by thesubmissive prayer, "If this cup may not pass from me except I drink it,thy will, not mine be done."
She opened her Bible and read of his sufferings, so meekly and patientlyborne, without a single murmur or complaint; borne by One who was freefrom all stain of sin; born not for himself, but for others; sufferingsto which her own were not for a moment to be compared; and then sheprayed that she might bear the image of Jesus; that like him she might beenabled to yield a perfect submission to her heavenly Father's will, andto endure with patience and meekness whatever trial he might see fit toappoint her.
Elsie was far from well, and for many long hours after she had soughther pillow she lay tossing restlessly from side to side in mental andphysical pain, her temples throbbing, and her heart aching with itsintense longing for the love that now seemed farther from her than ever.And thought--troubled, anxious, distracting thought--was busy in herbrain; all the stories of martyrs and captive nuns which she had everread--all the descriptions of the horrible tortures inflicted by Romeupon her wretched victims, came vividly to her recollection, and when atlength she fell asleep, it was but to wake again, trembling with frightfrom a dream that she was in the dungeons of the Inquisition.
Then again she slept, but only to dream of new horrors which seemedterribly real even when she awoke; and thus, between sleeping and waking,the hours dragged slowly along, until at last the day dawned, after whathad seemed to the little girl the longest night she had ever known.
Her maid came in at the usual hour, and was surprised and alarmed to findher young mistress still in bed, with cheeks burning and eyes sparklingwith fever, and talking in a wild, incoherent manner.
Rushing out of the room, Fanny hastened in search of Miss Adelaide, who,she had long since discovered, was the only one of the family that caredfor Elsie; and in a few moments the young aunt was standing at thebedside, looking with tearful eyes at the little sufferer.
"Oh, Miss Adelaide!" whispered the girl, "I tink she's _berry_ sick;shan't we send for de doctah?"
"Yes, tell Jim to go for him _immediately_, and to stop on his way backand tell Aunt Chloe that she is wanted here just as soon as she canpossibly come," replied Adelaide quickly, and then she set herself towork to make the child as comfortable as possible, remaining beside heruntil Chloe came to take her place, which was in less than an hour aftershe had received the summons, and just as the breakfast-bell rang atRoselands.
"So Elsie has taken a fever, and there is no knowing what it is, orwhether it is contagious or not," remarked Mrs. Dinsmore. "It is reallyfortunate that we were just going away for our summer trip. I shall takeall the children now, and we will start this very day; what a good thingit is that Elsie has kept her room so constantly of late! Can you packin time for the afternoon train, Adelaide?"
"I shall not go now, mamma," replied Adelaide quietly.
"Why not?" asked her mother in a tone of surprise.
"Because I prefer to stay with Elsie."
"What absurd folly!" exclaimed Mrs. Dinsmore. "Aunt Chloe will doeverything that is necessary, and you don't know to what infection youmay be exposing yourself."
"I don't think there is any danger, mamma; and if Elsie should be veryill Aunt Chloe will need assistance; and I am not willing to leaveHorace's child to the care of servants. Elsie has been a great comfortto me in my sorrow," she added, with tears in her eyes, "and I will notforsake her now; and you know, mamma, it is no self-denial, for I haveno heart for gayety. I would _much_ rather stay."
"Certainly; stay if you like," answered her father, speaking for thefirst time. "I do not imagine that Elsie's disease is contagious; she hasdoubtless worried herself sick, and it would not look well to theneighbors for us all to run away and leave the child so ill. Ah! there isthe doctor, and we will have his opinion," he exclaimed, as through thehalf-open door he caught a glimpse of the family physician descending thestairs. "Ask him in to breakfast, Pomp. Good-morning, doctor! how do youfind your patient?"
"I think her quite a sick child, sir, though of the precise nature of herdisease I am not yet able to form a decided opinion," replied thephysician, accepting the offered seat at the table.
"Is it anything contagious?" inquired Mrs. Dinsmore anxiously.
"I cannot yet say certainly, madam, but I think not."
"Shall we send for Horace? that is, would you advise it?" asked Mr.Dinsmore hesitatingly.
"Oh, no," was the reply; "not until we have had more time to judgewhether she is likely to be very ill; it may prove but a slight attack."
"I shall write this very day," was Adelaide's mental resolve, though shesaid nothing.
Mrs. Dinsmore hurried her preparations, and the middle of the afternoonfound Adelaide and Elsie sole occupants of the house, with the exceptionof the servants. Adelaide watched the carriage as it rolled away, andthen, with feelings of sadness and desolation, and a mind filled withanxious forebodings, returned to her station at Elsie's bedside.
The child was tossing about, moaning, and talking incoherently, andAdelaide sighed deeply at the thought that this was perhaps but thebeginning of a long and serious illness, while she was painfullyconscious of her own inexperience and want of skill in nursing.
"Oh!" she exclaimed half aloud, "if I only had some kind, experiencedfriend to advise and assist me, what a blessed relief it would be!"
There was a sound of carriage-wheels on the gravel walk below, andhastily turning to Chloe, she said, "Go down and tell them I must beexcused. I cannot see visitors while my little niece is so very ill."
Chloe went, but returned almost immediately, followed by Mrs. Travilla.
With a half-smothered exclamation of delight, Adelaide threw herself intothe kind, motherly arms extended to receive her, and burst into tears.Mrs. Travilla let them have their way for a moment, while she strokedher hair caressingly, and murmured a few soothing words. Then she said,softly, "Edward called at the gate this morning, and learned all aboutit; and I knew you were but young, and would feel lonely and anxious, andI love the dear child as if she were my own, and so I have come to stayand help you nurse her, if you will let me."
_"Let_ you! dear Mrs. Travilla; I can never repay your kindness."
Mrs. Travilla only smiled, and pressed the hand she held; and thenquietly laying aside her bonnet and shawl, took up her post at thebedside, with the air of one quite at home, and intending to be useful.
"It is such an inexpressible relief to see you sitting there," whisperedAdelaide. "You don't know what a load you have taken off my mind."
But before Mrs. Travilla could reply, Elsie started up in the bed, witha wild outcry: "Oh, don't, papa! don't send me there! They will kill me!they will torture me! Oh, let me stay at home with you, and I will bevery good."
Mrs. Travilla spoke soothingly to her, and persuaded her to lie downagain.
Elsie looked at her quite rationally, and holding out her hand, with afaint smile, said: "Thank you, Mrs. Travilla; you are very kind to cometo see me; I am very sick; my head hurts me so;" and she put her hand upto it, while again her eyes rolled wildly, and she shrieked out, "Oh,Aunt Adelaide! save me! save me! don't let them take me away to thatdreadful place! Must I go now? to-day?" she asked in piteous accents."Oh! I don't want to go!" and she clung shuddering to her aunt, who wasbending over her, with eyes swimming in tears.
"No, darling, no," she said, "no one shall take you away; nobody shallhurt you." Then in answer to Mrs. Travilla's inquiring look, sheexplained, speaking
in an undertone: "He had decided to place her in aconvent, to complete her education. I told her of it last night," sheadded mournfully, "as he requested, and I very much fear that the frightand terror she suffered on that account have helped to bring on thisattack."
"Poor, dear, precious lamb!" sighed Chloe, who stood at the foot of thebed, gazing sadly at her nursling, and wiping away tear after tear, asthey chased each other down her sable cheek. "I wish Massa Horace couldsee her now. I'se sure he nebber say such cruel tings no more."
"He ought surely to be here! You have sent for him, Adelaide?" Mrs.Travilla said inquiringly. "She is very ill, and it is of greatimportance that her mind should be set at rest, if indeed it _can_ bedone at present."
"I wrote this morning," Adelaide said, "and I shall write every day untilhe comes."
Elsie caught the words, and turning with an eager look to her aunt, sheagain spoke quite rationally, "Are you writing to papa, Aunt Adelaide?"she asked. "Oh! _beg_ him to come home soon, _very_ soon; tell him I wantto see him once more. Oh, Aunt Adelaide, he _will_ kiss me when I amdying, won't he? Oh, say you think he will."
"I am _sure_ of it, darling," replied Adelaide soothingly, as she bentdown and kissed the little feverish cheek; "but we are not going to letyou die yet."
"But will you ask papa? will you _beg_ him to come?" pleaded the littlevoice still more eagerly.
"I will, I _have_, darling," replied the aunt; "and I doubt not that hewill start for home immediately on receiving my letter."
Day after day the fever raged in Elsie's veins, and when at length it wassubdued, it left her very weak indeed; but the doctor pronounced her freefrom disease, and said she only needed good nursing and nutritious dietto restore her to health; and Mrs. Travilla and Chloe, who had watchedday and night by her couch with intense anxiety, wept for joy andthankfulness that their precious one was yet spared to them.
But alas! their hopes faded again, as day after day the little girl layon her bed, weak and languid, making no progress toward recovery, butrather losing strength.
The doctor shook his head with a disappointed air, and drawing Adelaideaside, said, "I cannot understand it, Miss Dinsmore; has she any mentaltrouble? She seems to me like one who has some weight of care or sorrowpressing upon her, and sapping the very springs of life. She appears tohave no desire to recover; she needs something to rouse her, and reviveher love of life. _Is_ there anything on her mind? If so, it must beremoved, or she will certainly die."
"She is very anxious to see her father," said Adelaide, weeping. "Oh,_how_ I wish he would come! I cannot imagine what keeps him. I havewritten again and again."
"I wish he was here, indeed," replied the doctor, with a look of greatanxiety. "Miss Adelaide," he suddenly exclaimed, "if she were ten yearsolder I should say she was dying of a broken heart, but she is so youngthe idea is absurd."
"You are right, doctor! it is nothing but that. Oh! how I wish Horacewould come!" cried Adelaide, walking up and down the room, and wringingher hands. "Do you notice, doctor," she asked, stopping before him, "howshe watches the opening of the door, and starts and trembles at everysound? It is killing her, for she is too weak to bear it. Oh! If Horacewould only come, and set her mind at rest! He has been displeased withher, and threatened to send her to a convent, of which she has a greathorror and dread--and she idolizes him; and so his anger and his threatshave had this sad effect upon her, poor child!"
"Write again, Miss Adelaide, and tell him that her _life_ depends uponhis speedy return and a reconciliation with him. If he would not loseher he must at _once_ relieve her of every fear and anxiety," said thephysician, taking up his hat. "_That_ is the medicine she needs, and the_only_ one that will do her much good. Good-morning. I will be in againat noon."
And Adelaide, scarcely waiting to see him off, rushed away to her room towrite to her brother exactly what he had told her, beseeching him, if hehad any love for his child, to return immediately. The paper was allblistered with her tears, for they fell so fast it was with difficultyshe could see to write.
"_She_ has spoken from the first as though it were a settled thing thatthis sickness was to be her last; and now a great, a terrible dread iscoming over me that she is right. Oh, Horace, will you not come andsave her?"
Thus Adelaide closed her note; then sealing and despatching it, shereturned to the bedside of her little niece.
Elsie lay quietly with her eyes closed, but there was an expression ofpain upon her features. Mrs. Travilla sat beside her, holding one littlehand in hers, and gazing with tearful eyes upon the little wan face shehad learned to love so well.
Presently those beautiful eyes unclosed, and turned upon her with anexpression of anguish that touched her to the very heart.
"What is it, darling--are you in pain?" she asked, leaning over her, andspeaking in tones of the tenderest solicitude.
"Oh! Mrs. Travilla," moaned the little girl, "my sins--my sins--they areso many--so black. 'Without holiness no man shall see the Lord.' God saysit; and I--I am _not_ holy--I am _vile_--oh, _so_ vile, so sinful! ShallI ever see his face? how can I dare to venture into his presence!"
She spoke slowly, gaspingly--her voice sometimes sinking almost to awhisper; so that, but for the death-like stillness of the room, her wordswould scarcely have been audible.
Mrs. Travilla's tears were falling very fast, and it was a moment ere shecould command her voice to reply.
"My precious, _precious_ child," she said, "_He_ is able to save to the_uttermost_. 'The blood of Jesus Christ cleanseth from _all_ sin.' Hewill wash you in that precious fountain opened for sin, and for alluncleanness. He will clothe you with the robe of his own righteousness,and present you faultless before the throne of God, without spot orwrinkle, or any such thing. _He_ has said it, and shall it not cometo pass, my darling? Yes, dear child, I am confident of this very thing,that he who has begun a good work in you will perform it until the dayof Jesus Christ."
"Oh, yes, he will, I know he will. Precious Jesus! _my_ Saviour,"murmured the little one, a smile of heavenly peace and joy overspreadingher features; and, closing: her eyes, she seemed to sleep, whileAdelaide, unable longer to control her feelings, stole softly fromthe room, to seek a place where she might weep without restraint.
An hour later Adelaide sat alone by the bedside, Mrs. Travilla havingfound it necessary to return to Ion for a few hours, while Chloe had gonedown to the kitchen to see to the preparation of some new delicacy withwhich she hoped to tempt Elsie's failing appetite.
Adelaide had been sitting for some moments gazing sadly at the littlepale, thin face, so fair, so sad, yet so full of meekness andresignation. Her eyes filled as she looked, and thought of allthat they feared.
"Elsie, darling! precious little one," she murmured in low, tremuloustones, as she leant over the child in tender solicitude.
"Dear Aunt Adelaide, how kind you are to me," said the little girl,opening her eyes and looking up lovingly into her aunt's face.
There was a sound of carriage-wheels.
"Is it my papa?" asked Elsie, starting and trembling.
Adelaide sprang to the window. No, it was only a kind neighbor, come toinquire how the invalid was.
A look of keen disappointment passed over the expressive countenance ofthe little girl--the white lids drooped over the soft eyes, and largetears stole from beneath the long dark lashes, and rolled silentlydown her cheeks.
"He will not come in time," she whispered, as if talking to herself. "Oh,papa, I want to hear you say you forgive all my naughtiness. I want onekiss before I go. Oh, take me in your arms, papa, and press me to yourheart, and say you love me yet!"
Adelaide could bear it no longer; the mournful, pleading tones went toher very heart. "Dear, _dear_ child," she cried, bending over her withstreaming eyes, "he _does_ love you! I _know_ it. _You_ are the very idolof his heart; and you must not die. Oh, darling, live for his sake, andfor mine. He will soon, be here, and then it will be all right; he willbe so thankful that he has not l
ost you, that he will never allow you tobe separated from him again."
"No, oh, no! he said he did not love a rebellious child," she sobbed; "hesaid he would never kiss me again until I submit; and you know I cannotdo that; and oh, Aunt Adelaide, _he never breaks his word_!"
"Oh, Horace! Horace! will you _never_ come? will you let her die? soyoung, so sweet, so fair!" wept Adelaide, wringing her hands.
But Elsie was speaking again, and she controlled herself to listen.
"Aunt Adelaide," she murmured, in low, feeble tones, "I am too weak tohold a pen; will you write something for me?"
"I will, darling; I will do anything I can for you," she replied.
Then turning to the maid, who had just entered the room: "Fanny," shesaid, "bring Miss Elsie's writing-desk here, and set it close to thebedside. Now you may take that waiter down-stairs, and you need notcome in again until I ring for you."
Elsie had started and turned her head on the opening of the door, as sheinvariably did, looking longingly, eagerly toward it--then turned awayagain with a sigh of disappointment.
"Poor papa! poor, dear papa!" she murmured to herself; "he will be solonely without his little daughter. My heart aches for you, my own papa."
"I am quite ready now, Elsie, dear. What do you wish me to write?" askedher aunt.
"Aunt Adelaide," said the little girl, looking earnestly at her, "do youknow how much mamma was worth? how much money I would have if I livedto grow up?"
"No, dear," she replied, much surprised at the question, for even inhealth Elsie had never seemed to care for riches; "I cannot say exactly,but I know it is a great many thousands."
"And it will all be papa's when I am gone, I suppose. I am glad of that.But I would like to give some of it away, if I might. I know I have no_right_, because I am so young--papa has told me that several times--butI think he will like to do what I wish with a part of it; don't you thinkso, too, Aunt Adelaide?"
Adelaide nodded assent; she dared not trust herself to speak, for shebegan to comprehend that it was neither more nor less than the last willand testament of her little niece, which she was requesting her to write.
"Well, then, Aunt Adelaide," said the feeble little voice, "please writedown that I want my dear papa to support one missionary to the heathenout of my money. Now say that I know he will take care of my poor oldmammy as long as she lives, and I hope that, for his little Elsie's sake,he will be very, _very_ kind to her, and give her everything she wants.And I want him to do something for Mrs. Murray, too. Mamma loved her, andso do I; for she was very kind to me always, and taught me about Jesus;and so I want papa to give her a certain sum every year; enough to keepher quite comfortable, for she is getting old, and I am afraid she isvery poor."
"I have written all that, Elsie; is there anything more?" asked Adelaide,scarcely able to command her voice.
"Yes, if you please," replied the little girl; and she went on toname every member of the family, from her grandfather down--servantsincluded--setting apart some little gift for each; most of them thingsalready in her possession, though some few were to be bought, if herpapa was willing. Even Miss Day was not forgotten, and to her Elsiebequeathed a valuable ring. To her Aunt Adelaide she gave her papa'sminiature, a lock of her own hair, and a small Testament.
"Are you really willing to part with your papa's picture, Elsie, dear?"asked Adelaide. "I thought you valued it very highly."
"I cannot take it with me, dear Aunt Adelaide," was the quiet reply, "andhe will not want it himself, and I believe you love him better than anyone else. Oh, Aunt Adelaide, comfort my poor papa when I am gone, and heis left _all alone_!" she exclaimed, the big tears chasing each otherdown her cheeks. "It is so sad to be alone, with nobody to love you; mypoor, poor papa! I am all he has."
"You have given nothing to him, Elsie," said Adelaide, wiping away hertears, and glancing over what she had just written.
"Yes, there is a little packet in my desk directed to him. Please givehim that, and my dear, precious little Bible. I can't part with it yet,but when I am gone."
She then mentioned that she had pointed out to her nurse the spot whereshe wished to be buried, and added that she did not want any monument,but just a plain white stone with her name and age, and a text ofScripture.
"That is all, and thank you very much, dear auntie," she said, whenAdelaide had finished writing down her directions; "now, please put thepen in my fingers and hold the paper here, and I think I can sign myname."
She did so quite legibly, although her hand trembled with weakness; andthen, at her request, the paper was folded, sealed, and placed in herdesk, to be given after her death to her father, along with the packet.
It was evidently a great relief to Elsie to get these things off hermind, yet talking so long had exhausted all her little strength, andAdelaide, much alarmed at the death-like pallor of her countenance,and the sinking of her voice, now insisted that she should lie quiet andtry to sleep.
Elsie made an effort to obey, but her fever was returning, and she wasgrowing very restless again.
"I cannot, Aunt Adelaide," she said at length, "and I want to tell you alittle more to say to papa, for I may not be able again. I am afraid hewill not come until I am gone, and he will be so sorry; my poor, poorpapa! Tell him that I loved him to the very last; that I longed to askhim to forgive me for all the naughty, rebellious feelings I have everhad towards him. Twice, since he has been displeased with me, I haverebelled in my heart--once when he refused to give me Miss Allison'sletter, and again when he sent mammy away; it was only for a few momentseach time; but it was very wicked, and I am very sorry."
Sobs choked her utterance.
"Poor darling!" said Adelaide, crying bitterly. "I don't think an angelcould have borne it better, and I know he will reproach himself for hiscruelty to you."
"Oh, Aunt Adelaide, _don't_ say that; don't _let_ him reproach himself,but say all you can to comfort him. I am his child--he had a right--andhe only wanted to make me good--and I needed it all, or God would nothave permitted it."
"Oh, Elsie, darling, I _cannot_ give you up! you _must not_ die!" sobbedAdelaide, bending over her, her tears falling fast on Elsie's brightcurls. "It is too hard to see you die so young, and with so much to livefor."
"It is very _sweet_ to go home so soon," murmured the soft, low voice ofthe little one, "so sweet to go and live with Jesus, and be free from sinforever!"
Adelaide made no reply, and for a moment her bitter sobbing was the onlysound that broke the stillness of the room.
"Don't cry so, dear auntie," Elsie said faintly. "I am very happy--onlyI want to see my father." She added something incoherently, and Adelaideperceived, with excessive alarm, that her mind was again beginning towander.
She hastily summoned a servant and despatched a message to the physician,urging him to come immediately, as there was an alarming change in hispatient.
Never in all her life had Adelaide suffered such anxiety and distress asduring the next half-hour, which she and the faithful Chloe spent by thebedside, watching the restless tossings of the little sufferer, whosefever and delirium seemed to increase every moment. Jim had not been ableto find the doctor, and Mrs. Travilla was staying away longer than shehad intended.
But at length she came, and, though evidently grieved and concerned atthe change in Elsie, her quiet, collected manner calmed and soothedAdelaide.
"Oh, Mrs. Travilla," she whispered, "do you think she will die?"
"We will not give up hope yet, my dear," replied the old lady, trying tospeak cheerfully; "but my greatest comfort, just at present, is the sureknowledge that she is prepared for any event. No one can doubt that sheis a lamb of the Saviour's fold, and if he is about to gather her intohis bosom--" She paused, overcome by emotion, then added in a tremuloustone, "It will be a sad thing to _us_, no doubt, but to her--dear littleone--a blessed, _blessed_ change."
"I cannot bear the thought," sobbed Adelaide, "but I have scarcely anyhope now, because--" and then s
he told Mrs. Travilla what they had beendoing in her absence.
"Don't let that discourage you, my dear," replied her friend soothingly."I have no faith in presentiments, and while there is life there ishope."
Dr. Barton, the physician, came in at that moment, looked at his youngpatient, felt her pulse, and shook his head sorrowfully.
Adelaide watched his face with the deepest anxiety.
He passed his hand over Elsie's beautiful curls.
"It seems a sad pity," he remarked in a low tone to her aunt, "but theywill have to be sacrificed; they must be cut off immediately, and herhead shaved."
Adelaide shuddered and trembled. "Is there any hope, doctor?" shefaltered almost under her breath.
"There is _life_ yet, Miss Adelaide," he said, "and we must use all themeans within our reach; but I wish her father was here. Have you heardnothing yet?"
"No, nothing, nothing!" she answered, in a tone of keen distress; thenhastily left the room to give the necessary orders for carrying out thedoctor's directions.
"No, no, you must not! Papa will not allow it--he will be very angry--hewill punish me if you cut off my curls!" and Elsie's little hand wasraised in a feeble attempt to push away the remorseless scissors thatwere severing the bright locks from her head.
"No, darling, he will not be displeased, because it is quite necessary tomake you well." said Mrs. Travilla in her gentle, soothing tones; "andyour papa would bid us do it, if he were here."
"No, no, don't cut it off. I _will_ not, I _cannot_ be a nun! Oh, papa,save me! save me!" she shrieked.
"Dear child, you are safe at home, with none but friends around you."
It was Mrs. Travilla's gentle voice again, and for a moment the childseemed calmed; but only for a moment; another wild fancy possessed herbrain, and she cried out wildly, "Don't! don't!--take it away! I will notbow down to images! No, no, I will not." Then, with a bitter, wailingcry, that went to the heart of every one who heard it: "Oh, papa, don'tbe angry! I will be good! Oh, I am all alone, nobody to love me."
"Elsie, darling, we are all here, and we love you dearly, _dearly_," saidAdelaide in quivering tones, while her scalding tears fell like rain uponthe little hand she had taken in hers.
"My papa--I want my papa; but he said he would never kiss me till Isubmit;" the tone was low and plaintive, and the large mournful eyes werefixed upon Adelaide's face.
Then suddenly her gaze was directed upward, a bright smile overspreadher features, and she exclaimed in joyous accents, "Yes, mamma, yes; Iam coming! I will go with you!"
Adelaide turned away and went weeping from the room, unable to bear anymore.
"Oh, Horace! Horace, what have you done!" she sobbed, as she walked upand down the hall, wringing her hands.
The doctor came out, but she was too much absorbed in her grief to noticehim. He went to her, however, and took her hand.
"Miss Adelaide," he said kindly, "it is true your little niece is veryill, but we will not give up all hope yet. It is possible her father'spresence may do something, and surely he will be here ere long. But tryto calm yourself, my dear young lady, and hope for the best, or I fear Ishall have another patient on my hands. I will stay with the little girlmyself to-night, and I wish I could prevail upon you to lie down and takesome rest, for I see you need it sadly. Have you had your tea?"
Adelaide shook her head. "I _could_ not eat," she said sadly.
"You ought at least to _try_; it would do you good," he urged.
"No, you will not? well, then, you will lie down; indeed, you must; youwill certainly be ill."
Adelaide looked the question she dared not ask.
"No," he said, "there's no _immediate_ danger, and if there should be anyimportant change I will call you."
And, reassured on that point, she yielded to his persuasions and went tobed.