But one night before this, when all windows and doors stood open to admit
the least breath that stirred the sultry July air, a servant on velvet
tiptoe had stolen up to Ellinor's open door, and had beckoned out of the
chamber of the sleeper the ever watchful nurse, Miss Monro.
"A gentleman wants you," were all the words the housemaid dared to say so
close to the bedroom. And softly, softly Miss Monro stepped down the
stairs, into the drawing-room; and there she saw Mr. Livingstone. But
she did not know him; she had never seen him before.
"I have travelled all day. I heard she was ill--was dying. May I just
have one more look at her? I will not speak; I will hardly breathe. Only
let me see her once again!"
"I beg your pardon, sir, but I don't know who you are; and if you mean
Miss Wilkins, by 'her,' she is very ill, but we hope not dying. She was
very ill, indeed, yesterday; very dangerously ill, I may say, but she is
having a good sleep, in consequence of a soporific medicine, and we are
really beginning to hope--"
But just here Miss Monro's hand was taken, and, to her infinite surprise,
was kissed before she could remember how improper such behaviour was.
"God bless you, madam, for saying so. But if she sleeps, will you let me
see her? it can do no harm, for I will tread as if on egg shells; and I
have come so far--if I might just look on her sweet face.
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