Floyd caught my arm with an eager movement.
"I speak soberly, madam, and from observation and reflection. And I
trust to see Delia live and triumph over her enemies."
"Won't you talk with the Squire, Doctor?" She still grasped my arm.
"He will not hear a word from me in favor of Delia. Mr. Dewey has
completely blinded him."
"Wait patiently, Mrs. Floyd," said I, in a tone of encouragement.
"Your daughter is not without friends. There are those upon her
side, who have the will and the power to defend her; and they will
defend her, I believe successfully."
A sigh fluttered through the room, causing us both to turn quickly
towards the bed on which Mrs. Dewey was lying. Her lips were moving
slightly; but no change appeared on her death-like face. I laid my
fingers upon her wrist, and searched for her pulse. It was very low
and thread-like; but with more vitality than on the occasion of my
first visit to her in the morning.
"The signs are favorable."
Mrs. Floyd did not respond. She was looking at her daughter with an
expression of unutterable grief upon her countenance.
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