‘You are very womanish. If the whole affair were coolly examined and discussed, I feel assured it would turn out that there is no danger of your dying at all.’
‘Amen! I am very willing to live, if it please God. I have felt life sweet.’
‘How can it be otherwise than sweet with your endowments and nature? Do you truly expect that you will be seized with hydrophobia, and die raving mad?’ ‘I expect it, and have feared it. Just now, I fear nothing.’
‘Nor do I, on your account. I doubt whether the smallest particle of virus mingled with your blood; and if it did, let me assure you that—young, healthy, faultlessly sound as you are—no harm will ensue. For the rest, I shall inquire whether the dog was really mad. I hold she was not mad.’
‘Tell nobody that she bit me.’
‘Why should I, when I believe the bite innocuous as a cut of this penknife? Make yourself easy; I am easy, though I value your life as much as I do my own chance of happiness in eternity. Look up.’
‘Why, Mr. Moore?’
‘I wish to see if you are cheered. Put your work down, raise your head.’
‘There—’
‘Look at me. Thank you! And is the cloud broken?’
‘I fear nothing.’
‘Is your mind restored to its own natural sunny clime?’
‘I am very content; but I want your promise.’
‘Dictate.’
‘You know, in case the worst I have feared should happen, they will smother me. You need not smile: they will—they always do. My uncle will be full of horror, weakness, precipitation; and that is the only expedient which will suggest itself to him. Nobody in the house will be self-possessed but you; now promise to befriend me—to keep Mr. Sympson away from me—not to let Henry come near, lest I should hurt him. Mind—mind that you take care of yourself, too; but I shall not injure you, I know I shall not. Lock the chamber-door against the surgeons—turn them out, if they get in. Let neither the young nor the old MacTurk lay a finger on me, nor Mr. Greaves, their colleague; and lastly, if I give trouble, with your own hand administer to me a strong narcotic: such a sure dose of laudanum as shall leave no mistake. Promise to do this.’
Moore left his desk, and permitted himself the recreation of one or two turns through the room. Stopping behind Shirley’s chair, he bent over her, and said, in a low, emphatic voice:
‘I promise all you ask—without comment, without reservation.’
‘If female help is needed, call in my housekeeper, Mrs. Gill; let her lay me out if I die. She is attached to me. She wronged me again and again, and again and again I forgave her. She now loves me, and would not defraud me of a pin; confidence has made her honest; forbearance has made her kind-hearted. At this day I can trust both her integrity, her courage, and her affection. Call her, but keep my good aunt and my timid cousins away. Once more, promise.’ ‘I promise.’
‘That is good in you,’ she said, looking up at him as he bent over her, and smiling.