"It's up, sure enough, with your fine plans," sneered Franz. "_I'm_ goin' ter take myself out of yer muddle, while my way's clear."

"If I wasn't dealin' with a pair of fools," snapped Mamma, "I'd come out all right. The gal ain't dead yet, is she?"

And then, while Leslie laughed and chattered, alone in the inner room, the three resolved themselves into a council, wrangled and disputed, and at last compromised and settled upon a plan--Papa yielding sullenly, Franz protesting to the last and making sundry reservations, and Mamma carrying the day.

Leslie must have a physician; it would never do to trust her fever to unskilled hands; she must have a physician, and a good one. So said Mamma.

"It ain't so risky as you might think," she argued. "A good doctor's what we want--one whose time's valuable. Then he won't be running here when he ain't wanted. He'll come an' see the gal, an' then he'll be satisfied to take my reports and send her the medicine. Oh, I know these city doctors. They come every day if you've got a marble door-step, but they won't be any too anxious about poor folks. A doctor can't make nothin' out of the kind of talk she is at now, and by the time she gits her senses, we'll hit on somethin' new."

This plan was opposed stoutly by Franz, feebly by Papa; but the old woman carried the point at last.

"I know who we want," said Mamma confidently. "It's Doctor Bayless. He's a good doctor, an' he don't live any too near."

At the mention of Doctor Bayless, Papa's countenance took on an expression of relief, which was noted by Franz, who turned away, saying:

"Wal, git your doctor, then, an' the quicker the better. But mind this: _I_ don't appear till I'm sure it's safe. Ye kin git yer doctor, but when he's here, I'll happen ter be out."

It was Mamma who summoned Doctor Bayless, and he came once, twice, and again.

His patient pa.s.sed, under his care, from delirium to stupor, from fever to coolness and calm, and then to returning consciousness. As he turned from her bedside, at the termination of his third visit, he said:

"I think she will get on, now. Keep her quiet, avoid excitement, and if she does not improve steadily, let me know."

He had verified Mamma's good opinion of him by manifesting not the slightest concern in the personality of his patient. If he were, for the moment, interested in Leslie, it was as a fever patient, not as a woman strangely superior to her surroundings. And on this occasion he dropped his interest in her case at the very door of the sick-room.

At the corner of the dingy street, a voice close behind him arrested his footsteps: "Doctor Bayless."

The man of medicine turned quickly to face the speaker.

"This is Doctor Bayless?" the owner of the intrusive voice queried.

Doctor Bayless bowed stiffly.

"Bayless, formerly of the R---- street Insane Asylum?" persisted the questioner.

The doctor reddened and a startled look crossed his face, but he said, after a moment's silence: "The same."

"I want a few words with you, sir."

"Excuse me;"--the doctor was growing haughty;--"my time is not my own."

"Neither is mine, sir. I am a public benefactor, same as yourself."

"Ah, a physician?"

"Oh, not at all; a detective."

"A detective!" Doctor Bayless did not look rea.s.sured. He glanced at the detective, and then up and down the street, his uneasiness evident.

"I am a detective; yes, sir," said the stranger cheerily, "and you are in a position to do me a favor without in any way discommoding yourself.

Don't be alarmed, sir; its nothing that affects you or touches upon that asylum business. You are safe with me, my word for it, and here's my card. Now, sir, just take my arm and come this way."

Doctor Bayless glanced down at the card, and then up at the speaker; and a look of relief crossed his face as he accepted the proffered arm, and walked slowly along at the side of his new acquaintance.

CHAPTER XLVII.

DELAYS ARE DANGEROUS.

Doctor Bayless had predicted aright. Leslie continued to gain slowly, and in the third week of her illness, she could sit erect in her bed for an hour or two each day, listening to Mamma's congratulations, and recalling, one by one, her woes of the past. Not recalling them poignantly, with the sharp pain that would torture her when she should have gained fuller strength, but vaguely, with a haunting pang, as one remembers an unhappy dream.

Day by day, as strength came back, her listlessness gave place to painful thought. One day, sitting for the first time in a lounging-chair, procured at second-hand for her comfort, she felt that the time had come to break the silence which, since her first full awakening to consciousness, she had imposed upon herself.

Mamma was bustling about the room, inwardly longing to begin the pa.s.sage-at-arms which she knew must soon ensue, and outwardly seeming solicitous for nothing save the comfort of her "dear girl." As Leslie's eyes followed her about, each seemed suddenly to have formed a like resolve.

"How many days have I been ill?" asked Leslie slowly, and languidly resting her head upon her hand.

Mamma turned toward her and seemed to meditate.

"How many days, my child? Ah, let us see. Why, it's weeks since you came to us--two, yes, three weeks; three weeks and a day."

Leslie was silent for a moment. Then she asked:

"And you have nursed me through my illness; you alone?"

"Surely; who else would there be?" replied Mamma in an injured tone.

"Who, indeed!" repeated Leslie bitterly. "Sit down, Madam; I want to talk with you."

Mamma drew forward a chair, and sank upon it with a gratified sigh. It had come at last, the opportunity for which she had planned and waited.

She could scarcely conceal her satisfaction.

"You have nursed me," began Leslie slowly, "through a tedious illness, and I have learned that you do nothing gratuitously. What do you expect of me?"

"Oh, my child--"

"Stop!" lifting her head, and fixing her eyes upon the old woman; "no evasions; I want the plain truth. I have no money. My husband's fortune I will never claim. I have told you this; I repeat it. So _what_ do you expect of me? Why was I not permitted to die in my delirium?"

Among her other talents, Mamma Francoise numbered that power, as useful off the stage as it is profitable behind the footlights--the power to play a part. And now, bringing this power into active use, she bowed her head upon her breast and sighed heavily.

"Ah, Leschen, you break my heart. We wanted you to live; we thought you had something to live for."

The acting was excellent, but the words were ill-chosen.

"Something to live for!" Leslie's hands met in a pa.s.sionate clasp.

"Something to live for! Right, woman; I have. Tell me, since you have brought me back to myself, how, _how_ can I ransom Daisy Warburton?"