The
first impulse of her true woman's heart, had she yielded to it,
would have prompted her to take it in her arms and cover it with
kisses.
The woman was too weak to rise from her chair, but she asked Mrs.
Carleton to be seated in a tone of lady-like self-possession that
did not escape the visitor's observation.
"How did you pass the night, Mrs. Leslie?" asked the doctor.
"About as usual," was answered, in a calm, patient way; and she even
smiled as she spoke.
"How about the pain through your side and shoulder?"
"It may have been a little easier."
"You slept?"
"Yes, sir."
"What of the night sweats?"
"I don't think they have diminished any."
The doctor beat his eyes to the floor, and sat in silence for some
time. The heart of Mrs. Carleton was opening towards--the baby and it
was a baby to make its way into any heart. She had forgotten her own
weakness--forgotten, in the presence of this wan and wasted mother,
with a sleeping cherub on her lap, all about her own invalid state.
"I will send you a new medicine," said the doctor, looking up; then
speaking to Mrs. Carleton, he added,--
"Will you sit here until I visit two or three patients in the
block?"
"O, certainly," and she reached out her arms for the baby, and
removed it so gently from its mother's lap that its soft slumber was
not broken.
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