He was so very earnest and so really troubled, and he stumbled about so for the right word, and hit upon the wrong one with such unfailing disaster, that she must have been superhuman not to laugh. Her laughing seemed to relieve him even more than her hearty speech. "Call me how you like, Mr. Libby. I don't insist upon anything with you; but I believe I prefer Miss Breen."
"You're very kind! Miss Breen it is, then. And you'll, forgive my siding against you?" he demanded radiantly.
"Don't speak of that again, please. I've nothing to forgive you."
They walked down-stairs and out on the piazza. Barlow stood before the steps, holding by the bit a fine bay mare, who twitched her head round a little at the sound of Libby's voice, and gave him a look. He passed without noticing the horse. "I'm glad to find Mrs. Maynard so well.
With that cold of hers, hanging on so long, I didn't know but she'd be in an awful state this morning."
"Yes," said Grace, "it's a miraculous escape."
"The fact is I sent over to New Leyden for my team yesterday. I did n't know how things might turn out, and you're so far from a lemon here, that I thought I might be useful in going errands."
Grace turned her head and glanced at the equipage. "Is that your team?"
"Yes," said the young fellow, with a smile of suppressed pride.
"What an exquisite creature!" said the girl.
"ISN'T she?" They both faced about, and stood looking at the mare, and the light, shining, open buggy behind her. The sunshine had the after-storm glister; the air was brisk, and the breeze blew balm from the heart of the pine forest. "Miss Breen," he broke out, "I wish you'd take a little dash through the woods with me. I've got a broad-track buggy, that's just right for these roads. I don't suppose it's the thing at all to ask you, on such short acquaintance, but I wish you would. I know you'd enjoy it: Come?"
His joyous urgence gave her a strange thrill. She had long ceased to imagine herself the possible subject of what young ladies call attentions, and she did not think of herself in that way now. There was something in the frank, eager boyishness of the invitation that fascinated her, and the sunny face turned so hopefully upon her had its amusing eloquence. She looked about the place with an anxiety of which she was immediately ashamed: all the ladies were out of sight, and probably at the foot of the cliff.
"Don't say no, Miss Breen," pleaded the gay voice.
The answer seemed to come of itself. "Oh, thank you, yes, I should like to go."
"Good!" he exclaimed, and the word which riveted her consent made her recoil.
"But not this morning. Some other day. I--I--I want to think about Mrs.
Maynard. I--ought n't to leave her. Excuse me this morning, Mr. Libby."
"Why, of course," he tried to say with unaltered gayety, but a note of disappointment made itself felt. "Do you think she's going to be worse?"
"No, I don't think she is. But--" She paused, and waited a space before she continued. "I 'm afraid I can't be of use to her any longer. She has lost confidence in me-- It's important she should trust her physician." Libby blushed, as he always did when required to recognize Grace in her professional quality. "It's more a matter of nerves than anything else, and if she does n't believe in me I can't do her any good."
"Yes, I can understand that," said the young man, with gentle sympathy; and she felt, somehow, that he delicately refrained from any leading or prompting comment.
"She has been urging me to have a consultation with some doctor about her case, and I--it would be ridiculous!"
"Then I would n't do it!" said Mr. Libby. "You know a great deal better what she wants than she does. You had better make her, do what you say."
"I didn't mean to burden you with my affairs," said Grace, "but I wished to explain her motive in speaking to you as she did." After she had said this, it seemed to her rather weak, and she could not think of anything else that would strengthen it. The young man might think that she had asked advice of him. She began to resent his telling her to make Mrs.
Maynard do what she said. She was about to add something to snub him, when she recollected that it was her own wilfulness which had precipitated the present situation, and she humbled herself.
"She will probably change her mind," said Libby. "She would if you could let her carry her point," he added, with a light esteem for Mrs. Maynard which set him wrong again in Grace's eyes: he had no business to speak so to her.
"Very likely," she said, in stiff withdrawal from all terms of confidence concerning Mrs. Maynard. She did not add anything more, and she meant that the young fellow should perceive that his, audience was at an end.
He did not apparently resent it, but she fancied him hurt in his acquiescence.
She went back to her patient, whom she found languid and disposed to sleep after the recent excitement, and she left her again, taking little Bella with her. Mrs. Maynard slept long, but woke none the better for her nap. Towards evening she grew feverish, and her fever mounted as the night fell. She was restless and wakeful, and between her dreamy dozes she was incessant in her hints for a consultation to Grace, who passed the night in her room, and watched every change for the worse with a self-accusing heart. The impending trouble was in that indeterminate phase which must give the physician his most anxious moments; and this inexperienced girl; whose knowledge was all to be applied, and who had hardly arrived yet at that dismaying stage when a young physician finds all the results at war with all the precepts, began to realize the awfulness of her responsibility. She had always thought of saving life, and not of losing it.
