"I wish you would let me try a remedy," said Lady Hartledon, wistfully.
"A compress of cold water round the throat with oilsilk over it. I have
seen it do so much good in cases of inward inflammation."
Mr. Brook smiled: if anything would do good that might, he said, speaking
as if he had little faith in remedies now. Sir Alexander intimated that
her ladyship might try it; graciously observing that it would do no harm.
The application was used, and the evening went on. The child had fallen
into a sort of stupor, and Mr. Brook came in again before he had been
away an hour, and leaned anxiously over the patient. He lay with his eyes
half-closed, and breathed with difficulty.
"I think," he exclaimed softly, "there's the slightest shade of
improvement."
"In the fever, or the throat?" whispered Lady Hartledon, who had not
quitted the boy's bedside.
"In the throat. If so, it is due to your remedy, Lady Hartledon."
"Is he in danger?"
"In great danger. Still, I see a gleam of hope."
After the surgeon's departure, she went down to her husband, meeting
Hedges on the stairs, who was coming to inquire after the patient for his
master, for about the fiftieth time. Hartledon was in the library, pacing
about incessantly in the darkness, for the room was only lighted by the
fire. Anne closed the door and approached him.
"Percival, I do not bring you very good tidings," she said; "and yet they
might be worse.
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