"Not for the worse, Dr. John?" repeats Mr. Ben, while both the kind old faces express much emotion. "You don't look for a change for the worse, do you?"
"No, no, my dear sirs; God forbid that I should look for it. But as yet I cannot tell, though to-night must decide the case one way or the other. We will pull her through yet, Mr. Talboys, if it be God's will; and if not--"
A lump rises in the young man's throat which prevents his finishing his sentence, and shaking off Mr. Ben's detaining hand as gently as he can, he tries to make his escape. But Mr. Ned hurries after him, and once more seizing his hand cries, with tears in his eyes:
"Save her, Dr. John! only save the child, and my Brother Ben and I shall owe you a debt of gratitude that we can never sufficiently repay."
The message which Dr. Sinclair promised the Mr. Talboys is despatched about ten o'clock the same night by his own errand-boy, whom he has brought with him to the Rookery and installed in the kitchen, in case of his wanting anything from his surgery during the night, as also to make himself useful in any way that he can in the house, all Becky's energies being concentrated on keeping the kitchen fire in.
The message is one that brings tears of joy and thankfulness to the eyes of the soft-hearted old gentlemen, for it tells them that their little favourite sank into a deep sleep about seven, and that if it continues, as Dr. Sinclair hopes and thinks it will, all danger will be at an end.
The old gentlemen retire to their beds, therefore, in a happier frame of mind than that in which they had left them the same morning. A long, anxious night of watching follows, through most of which Dr. Sinclair sits patiently, his large hand clasped tightly by Daisy's little thin one, until he becomes too cramped almost to move, though not all the agony in the world would have induced him to do so at the risk of rousing his little patient.
But presently, with the dawn, comes the knowledge that the little girl will live, for she still sleeps soundly. It is only then that Honor (on the doctor quietly persisting in her doing so) consents to give up her place to Molly, and with a thankful heart she goes to take the rest which, now that the suspense is over, she is obliged to confess that she sadly needs. As the doctor returns to his own house that same morning, he looks in at the Rosery, and delights the two old gentlemen with the good news he has to tell them. Not very long afterwards the brothers walk up to the Rookery together, but declining to stir an inch beyond the doorstep, make their inquiries of Doris--who comes out to see them--in a hushed, low voice, and having intrusted her with the lovely posy of spring flowers which they have brought for Daisy, go softly down the steps and gravel-walk on tiptoe, that no sound may reach the room above, where lies the little sufferer.