“Does your mother know anything about my part of the affair?”

“Oh, yes!  I told her all about it.  Hugh raved so, I had to explain what I knew about the trouble.  She guessed quickly enough that something had happened between you.”

“And the doctor?”

“Oh! he knows about it too, and he wants to know if you will come in, if they find they cannot quiet him.  Oh, Hugh will not know you,” he added, looking into her frightened face; “but the doctor thinks you might get him to sleep if you would be willing to try it.”

“Oh, dear!  I don’t want to go near him; but I suppose I must, if there is any chance of convincing him that I am safe, after all.”

The doctor looked up in surprise when Dexie appeared in the room with Mrs. Gurney a short time after.  Was it this slip of a girl that had wrought such mischief?

“So this is your work,” and he waved his hand towards the bed.

Dexie flashed an angry look at him, saying in a low voice: 

“I beg your pardon, sir, I think Mr. McNeil can blame himself and no one else.  What can I do, Mrs. Gurney?”

Hugh was tossing about in restless delirium, muttering broken sentences; and the piteous cry of “Dexie! oh, Dexie!” rang through the room.

“Speak to him; perhaps he will realize you are here,” said Mrs. Gurney.

The doctor placed a chair by the bedside for her, then stood by the foot of the bed, watching.

“I never meant it, Dexie; I would not throw you over for worlds; forgive me.”

Dexie knew that the memory of the scene on the roof was troubling his mind, and the anguish depicted on Hugh’s face brought such a lump into her throat that she could not speak a word.

“Come back into the boat with me; I’ll promise to take you home,” he cried.

The doctor eyed Dexie sternly.

“Speak to him,” he said, sharply.

“I am here, Mr. McNeil.  I have come back safe and well.  Try to sleep.”

Her voice seemed to pierce the troubled brain, and his face lost much of its troubled look.

“Sing something, Dexie,” said Mrs. Gurney, “and perhaps he will sleep.  He has not been quiet since they brought him home,” and, bending down, said softly, “Try, Dexie.  I know it is hard for you, but if he will sleep it will be almost the saving of him.  You will do this for me, I know.”

  “Nearer, my God, to Thee; nearer to Thee.”

It was almost a whisper, but it soon had a visible effect on Hugh, and in half an hour the doctor’s curt words, “You may go now,” were more welcome than the sweetest praise.

As the fever ran its course, Dexie was frequently called to Hugh’s bedside.  How she dreaded those visits, yet stern duty forbade her to refuse, as her heart often prompted.

Dexie soon saw that she was not in the doctor’s good graces, for as Hugh revealed the past, in broken and disjointed sentences, it gave him the impression that she had been trifling with Hugh’s affections, and she resented the tone he assumed when speaking to her.  However, as the days passed, and the doctor learned the real truth of the matter, he began to look at Dexie with less disfavor; but the inquisitive manner with which he now regarded her was not less objectionable.