"Captain, wilt have an eye to-night to those two beds in the corner? 'T is Priscilla Molines and Desire Minter, both shrewdly burned with fever, and needing medicine and care lest they should fall to raving before morning. I'd not ask thee, knowing all thou hast on hand, but goodwife Billington must not quit"-- "Nay, nay, what needs so many words," interrupted Standish. "Give me their medicine and directions, I can care for them well enow and for Bradford whose huckle-bone[4] giveth him sore distress to-night." [4] Hip-bone. "I doubt me if he wins through," said the Doctor softly; "and White and Molines will never see the morning, and Mistress Winslow is going fast--well, I leave the maids and Bradford to thee." "Ay, I'll do my best," replied Standish briefly. And so it came to pass that Priscilla Molines, moaning in her feverish unrest, felt a moist linen laid upon her brow and a cup held to her parched lips. "Petite maman!" murmured she, and with those moistened lips kissed the hand that held the cup. Standish sadly smiled a little, and passed on to the next bed where lay Desire Minter, not so ill, but far more requiring than Priscilla. "Here is thy draught, child," said the nurse kindly, as he raised her head and put the cup to her lips. Swallowing it eagerly, she lifted her jealous eyes and with a smile half cunning, half pathetic, whispered,-- "I love thee too, but I think it not maidenly to kiss thee till I'm asked." "Nay, girl, thou 'rt dreaming or wild," said the Captain soothingly. "She, poor maid, is distraught, and took me for her mother. She loves me not, nor dost thou, nor do I ask any woman's love." "Nay, then, thou 'rt mocking me. Thou dost love her, and she loves thee, for I've heard her say as much; but still I know one that loves thee better." "If thou were not so ill, Desire, I'd find it in my heart to say--but there, sleep poor child, sleep! Thou knowst not what thou sayst." And Standish turned impatiently away to Bradford who suffered excruciatingly that night with inflammatory rheumatism in the hip-joint. The next morning Priscilla awaking refreshed, and for the moment quite herself, found her neighbor weeping passionately, yet from time to time regarding her in so peculiar a fashion that she said softly,-- "What is it, Desire? Art thou in sore pain?" "It ill fits thee to pity me when it is thou that hast done me such despite," whimpered Desire sullenly. "I! what dost thou mean?" "Why, I have ever liked our Captain since first I saw him, and now his wife is dead and buried, why should he not marry me as well as another?" "Why not, if it pleaseth him? I forbid not the banns," replied Priscilla, the dim wraith of her old smile passing across her face. "Why not? Because thou hast bewitched him, thou naughty sprite, and thou knowest it."