CHAPTER XXIII.
"I simply tell thee peril is at hand, And would preserve thee!" BYRON.
Two days later the cousins sat in their front room, Florence intently reading, Mary watching beside the couch of pain, bathing her aunt's brow, and chafing the hands.

Aunt Lizzy was suffering from violent nervous headache: all day she had tossed restlessly about, and now, soothed by the gentle touches on her brow, had fallen asleep.

Her fingers had tightly clasped Mary's small, thin hands, but gradually relaxing their hold, sunk beside her.

Softly smoothing back the disordered hair, the young nurse failed to perceive the entrance of Dr.Bryant, and only looked up when a beautiful bouquet of flowers was laid upon her lap.

The feverish glow deepened on her cheek as she warmly thanked him.
"I am glad you like them, Miss Irving." "How could I do otherwise ?" "My bunch is equally beautiful," cried Florence, holding it up for inspection.