before many minutes were over, and signalled to Sybil across the salon, who got up at once and followed her.
' Is there anything wrong?' she asked.
' Yes; I have asked Dr. Thaxter to come and see him. His temperature has risen again. But he asked me if he could see you for a moment; I wish you would go. He is very restless, and I think you might quiet him; for you know,' she said, looking at her, ' I think you can do more for him than any doctor.'
Sybil stood there a minute, biting her lip. She had a physical repulsion to illness, which, though it shocked her that she should feel it, yet dominated her. Since she had taken Charlie in hand, she had had daily to wrestle with it, and though, owing to his very satisfactory progress, it had become easier to overcome, yet it was always there. But she decided almost immediately.
' Yes, I will go,' she said, then paused. ' Does he look terrible? Will it shock me?' she asked.
Mrs. Brancepeth's eyes lit up with a momentary indignation.
' Ah, what does that matter?' she exclaimed involuntarily. ' No, dear, I did not mean to say that. I know your horror of illness. But go to him; it will not shock you. He is looking rather flushed; his eyes are very bright.'
She took Sybil's hands in hers.
' Oh, make him better, make him better!' she said; ' make him want to live!'
Entreaty vibrated in her voice, and her hands trembled. Sybil felt immensely sorry for her, and her sorrow overcame her repugnance at what lay before her. Her horror for illness was of the same character as a child's fear of the dark—unreasonable, but overmastering. But in the presence of this mother's anxiety it was conquered for the moment.
