"
"It is very likely," said Ruth heavily.
"Annoyed--why! he may curse you for your unasked-for care of him.
I have heard my poor mother--and she was as pretty and delicate a
creature as you are--cursed for showing tenderness when it was
not wanted. Now, be persuaded by an old man like me, who has seen
enough of life to make his heart ache--leave this fine gentleman
to his fate. I'll promise you to get him as good a nurse as can
be had for money."
"No!" said Ruth, with dull persistency--as if she had not
attended to his dissuasions; "I must go. I will leave him before
he recognises me."
"Why, then," said the old surgeon, "if you're so bent upon it, I
suppose I must let you. It is but what my mother would have
done--poor, heart-broken thing! However, come along, and let us
make the best of it. It saves me a deal of trouble, I know; for,
if I have you for a right hand, I need not worry myself
continually with wondering how he is taken care of. Go get your
bonnet, you tender-hearted fool of a woman! Let us get you out of
the house without any more scenes or explanations; I'll make all
straight with the Bensons."
"You will not tell my secret, Mr. Davis," she said abruptly.
"No! not I! Does the woman think I had never to keep a secret of
the kind before? I only hope he'll lose his election, and never
come near the place again. After all," continued he, sighing, "I
suppose it is but human nature!" He began recalling the
circumstances of his own early life, and dreamily picturing
scenes in the grey dying embers of the fire; and he was almost
startled when she stood before him, ready equipped, grave, pale,
and quiet.
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