one. It was a great relief, too, that there was no wandering of mind,
only the extreme drowsiness and oppression; and when Guy was roused by
the doctor's visit, he was as clear and collected as possible, making
inquiries and remarks, and speaking in a particularly calm and quiet
manner. As soon as the doctor was gone, he looked up to Amabel, saying,
with his own smile, only very dim,--

'It would be of no use, and it would not be true, to say I had rather
you did not nurse me. The doctor hopes there is not much danger of
infection, and it is too late for precautions.'

'I am very glad,' said Amy.

'But you must be wise, and not hurt yourself. Will you promise me not to
sit up?'

'It is very kind of you to tell me nothing worse,' said she, with a sad
submissiveness.

He smiled again. 'I am very sorry for you,' he said, looking very
tenderly at her. 'To have us both on your hands at once! But it comes
straight from Heaven, that is one comfort, and you made up your mind to
such things when you took me.'

Sadness in his eye, a sweet smile on his lip, and serenity on his brow,
joined with the fevered cheek, the air of lassitude, and the panting,
oppressed breath, there was a strange, melancholy beauty about him;
and while Amy felt an impulse of ardent, clinging affection to one so
precious to her, there was joined with it a sort of awe and veneration
for one who so spoke, looked, and felt. She hung over him, and sprinkled
him with Eau-de-Cologne; then as his hair teased him by falling into his
eyes, he asked her to cut the front lock off. There was something sad
in doing this, for that 'tumble-down wave,' as Charlotte called it, was
rather a favourite of Amy's; it always seemed to have so much sympathy
with his moods, and it was as if parting with it was resigning him to a
long illness. However, it was too troublesome not to go, and he looked
amused at the care with which she folded up the glossy, brown wave, and
treasured it in her dressing-case, then she read to him a few verses of
a psalm, and he soon fell into another doze.

There was little more of event, day after day. The fever never ran as
high as in Philip's case, and there was no delirium. There was almost
constant torpor, but when for any short space he was thoroughly
awakened, his mind was perfectly clear, though he spoke little, and then
only on the subject immediately presented to him. There he lay for
one quiet hour after another, while Amy sat by hi