The daughter was a mere child--only fifteen--extremely pretty and engaging, but evidently too much petted and indulged, her father's spoiled darling.
Edward knew that she was an only child and motherless, and was much shocked and grieved to hear that she was likely to lose her only remaining parent.
Zoe herself opened the door in answer to his gentle rap.
"O Mr.Travilla!" she said, giving him both hands in her joy at seeing a friendly face in this hour of sore distress, but with tears streaming down her cheeks, "I am so glad you have come! Papa is so sick, and I don't know what to do, or where to turn." "My poor child! we must hope for the best," Edward said, pressing the little hands compassionately in his.

"You must call upon me for help and let me do whatever I can for you and your poor father, just as if I were his son and your brother." "Oh, thank you! you are very kind.

Will you come now and speak to him ?" and she led the way to the bedside.
"Travilla!" the sick man exclaimed, feebly holding out his hand.

"Thank God for sending you here!" Edward took the offered hand in his, saying with an effort to steady his tones, "I am glad indeed to be here, sir, if you can make use of me, but very sorry to see you so ill." The hand he held was cold and clammy, and death had plainly set his seal upon the pale face on the pillow.
"Shall I send Ben for a physician ?" Edward asked.
"Thank you.

I have had one; he will be here again presently, but can do little for me," the sick man answered, speaking slowly and with frequent pauses.