She sleeps. Is it--oh! can it be the sleep of
death?"
Quickly the physician is at the bedside, and anxiously bending over
his patient.
Another moment and he grasps the husband's hand, while the glad
words "She will live," burst from his lips.
We may not picture forth their joy. On, on, we are riding with the
doctor. Once more we are at his own door. Hastily he enters, and
takes up the slate containing the list of calls during his absence.
At half a dozen places his presence is requested without delay.
A quick step is heard on the stairs, and his gentle wife hastens to
welcome him.
"I am so glad you have come; how wet you must be!"
The parlour door is thrown open. What a cheerful fire, and how
inviting look the dressing-gown and the nicely warmed slippers!
"Take off your wet clothes, dear; dinner will soon be ready," urges
the wife.
"It is impossible, Mary. There are several places to visit yet. Nay,
never look so sad. Have not six years taught you what a doctor's
wife must expect?"
"I shall never feel easy when you are working so hard, Henry; but
surely you will take a cup of hot coffee; I have it all ready. It
will delay you but a moment."
The doctor consents; and while the coffee is preparing, childish
voices are heard, and little feet come quickly through the hall.
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