She has borne up under the gradual progress of a
disease which is now, I fear, beyond the aid of medical treatment."

"Dr. Jeremy," said Gertrude, "you do not mean to tell me that auntie is
going to die and leave me, and her poor old father, and without ever
seeing Willie again, too? Oh, I had hoped it was not nearly so bad as
that!"

"Do not be alarmed, Gertrude," said the doctor. "I did not mean to
frighten you;--she may live some time yet. I can judge better of her
case in a day or two. But it is absolutely _unsafe_ for you to be here
alone with these two friends of yours--to say nothing of its overtasking
your strength. Has not Mrs. Sullivan the means to keep a nurse, or even
a domestic? She tells me she has no one."

"Yes, indeed," answered Gerty; "her son supplies her wants most
generously. I know that she never draws nearly the whole of the amount
he is anxious she should expend."

"Then you must speak to her about getting some one to assist you at
once; for, if you do not, I shall."

"I intend to do it," said Gertrude. "I have seen the necessity for some
time past; but she has such a dread of strangers, that I hated to
propose it."

"Nonsense," said the doctor; "that's only imagination in her; she would
soon get used to being waited upon."

Mrs. Sullivan now returned, and Gertrude, giving an account of her
unexpected re-encounter with Nan Grant, begged Dr. Jeremy to go the next
day and see her. "It will be a visit of charity," said she, "for she is
probably penniless; and, though staying with your old patients, the
Millers, she is but distantly connected, and has no claim upon them.
That never makes any difference with you, however, I know very well."

"Not a bit, not a bit," answered the doctor. "I'll go and see her
to-night, if the case requires it, and to-morrow I shall look in to
report how she is, and hear the rest of what Mrs. Sullivan was telling
me about her wakeful nights. But, Gertrude, do you go, child, and change
your wet shoes and stockings. I shall have you on my hands next."

Mrs. Sullivan was delighted with Dr. Jeremy. "So different," said she,
"from common doctors" (a portion of humanity for which she seemed to
have an unaccountable aversion); "so social and friendly! Why, I felt,
Gertrude, as if I could talk to him about my sickness as freely as I can
to you."

Gertrude joined in the praises bestowed upon her much-valued friend, and
it was tea-time before Mrs. Sullivan was weary of