_ CHAPTER FORTY SIX. FEVER WORKS WONDERS
Doctor Grayson's book stood still.
For many years past he had given up the practice of medicine, beyond writing out a prescription for his daughter or servants, but he called in the services of no other medical man for poor Dexter.
"No, my dear," he said. "It is my fault entirely that the boy is in this state, and if such knowledge as I possess can save him, he shall come down hale and strong once more."
So Dexter had the constant attention of a clever physician and two nurses, who watched by him night and day, the doctor often taking his turn to relieve Helen or Mrs Millett, so that a little rest might be theirs.
And all through that weary time, while the fever was culminating, those who watched learned more of the poor fellow's sufferings at the scholastic establishment, during his flight, when he toiled homeward with an injured foot, and afterwards when he had taken possession of his old den, and often nearly starved there, in company with his squirrel-- his old friend whom he found established in the loft, whence it sallied forth in search of food, as its master was obliged to do in turn.
One night Helen went up to relieve Mrs Millett, and found Maria leaning against the door outside, crying silently, and this impressed her the more, from the fact that Peter and Dan'l had each been to the house three times that day to ask how Master Dexter was.
Maria hurried away, and Helen entered, to find old Mrs Millett standing by the bedside, holding one of the patient's thin white hands, and watching him earnestly.
"Don't say he's worse," whispered Helen.
"Hush, my dear," whispered the old woman. "Ring, please, Miss; master said I was to if I saw any change."
Helen glided to the bell, and then ran back to the bed, to stand trembling with her hands clasped, and her eyes tearless now.
The doctor's step was heard upon the stairs, and he entered breathlessly, and without a word crossed to the bed, to bend down over the sufferer as he held his wrist.
The silence in that room was terrible to two of the inmates, and the suspense seemed to be drawn out until it was almost more than could be borne.
At last the doctor turned away, and sank exhausted in a chair; and as Helen caught his hand in hers, and questioned him with her eyes, he said in a low and reverent voice--
"Yes, Helen, our prayers have been heard. Poor fellow! he will live." _