"I know it, I know it," said Fanny. "I wish he would not do so, but Dr.
Lacey--Dr. Lacey--I never thought you wanted him to love you; if I had--"
"What would you have done?" asked Julia, with noticeable eagerness.
The voice was mournfully low which replied, "I would have given him up for
you. I could not have married one whom my sister loved." And then she
suddenly added, "It seems doubtful whether he marries that young lady. If
anything should happen to prevent it, he may yet make you his wife."
"And you, what would you do?" asked Julia.
"Oh, it is impossible for me to marry him now," said Fanny. "But if you
were happy with him, I would try to be happy, too."
"God bless you, sweet sister," said Julia; "but it will never be."
Fanny did not reply, and after a moment's silence Julia said, "Sister, if
I were you I would keep all this a secret, and even if I were unhappy, I
would try to assume a forced cheerfulness, for fear people would suspect
the truth, and call me lovesick."
Fanny did not reply to this either. She was trying to still the painful
throbs of her aching heart. Through all the long, weary hours of that
night she was awake. Sometimes she would watch the myriad host of stars,
as they kept on their unwearied course through the clear, blue sky, and
would wonder if there was room beyond them for one so unhappy as she was,
and would muse on the past days of happiness now forever gone, and
although a choking sensation was in her throat, not a tear moistened her
cheek. "I shall never weep again," thought she, "and why should I? The
world will not know what I suffer. I will be as gay and merry as ever."
And a fearful laugh rang through the room as she said, "Yes, how gayly
I'll dance at the wedding. I'll hold my heart so fast that none shall ever
know in how many pieces it is broken."
Thus she talked on. Delirium was stealing over her, and when morning
broke, the rapid moving of her bright eye, and the crimson spot which
burned on either cheek, showed that brain fever was doing its work.
A physician was immediately called and by the means of powerful remedies
the progress of the disease was checked, so that Fanny was seriously ill
for only a week. She was delirious a great part of the time, but Julia was
delighted to find out that not one word of Dr. Lacey ever passed her lips.
At the commencement of her illness her father and mother were sent for.
The old man came quickly, for Fanny was his idol, and if she should die,
he would be bereaved indeed. With untiring love he watched by her bedside
until the crisis was passed. He would fan her fevered brow, moisten her
parched lips, chafe her hot, burning hands, smooth her tumbled pillow, and
when at last he succeeded in soothing her into a troubled slumber, he
would sit by her and gaze on her wan face with an earnestness which seemed
to say that she was his all of earth, his more than all of heaven. Julia
too was all attention. Nothing tired her, and with unwearied patience she
came and went at her father's bidding, doing a thousand little offices
pertaining to a sick chamber. For once her father's manner softened toward
her and the tones of his voice were gentle and his words kind while
speaking to his first born. Could he have known what part she had in
causing the illness of his "darling Sunshine," all Frankfort would have
shaken with the heavy artillery of oaths and execrations, which would have
been disgorged from his huge lungs, like the eruption of some long pent-up
volcano! But he did not suspect the truth, and in speaking of Fanny's
illness, he said, "It is studyin' so close that ailed her. As soon as ever
she can bar to be moved, we will carry her home, and Aunt Katy'll nuss her
up quicker."