"I will, Moredock," said the curate sternly, and, in grave perplexity at the loose ideas of morality existing in Duke's Hampton, he went straight home, to find the doctor seated by Mary's couch. CHAPTER TWENTY ONE. "SOMETHING PARTICULAR TO SAY." Horace North had sternly determined on self-repression, and, from the moment when the crisis of Leo's fever had left her utterly prostrate, he had set himself the almost superhuman task of saving her from the grave. He had treated his patient with a gentleness and care that gradually won upon her, harsh and distant as she was by nature; so that at last, after the first fits of wearing fretfulness were over, she began to greet him with a welcoming smile, and seemed happier when he sat down and stayed chatting to her by her bed. On that night when the passionate avowals had been uttered she had sunk back into a violent fit of delirium; and since then, in all his long hours of watching, no word of love had passed her lips--no kindly look her eyes. North was disappointed and touched to the quick, for he watched for her loving looks, listened for her tender words. On the other hand, in his calmer moments he was pleased, for it made his task the lighter. He could repress himself until such time as his patient were well and he could honourably approach her to ask her to be his wife. He was not surprised at her petulance or her irritability; and even in her worst moods he only smiled, as he thought of her past sufferings and present weakness. This childlike temper was the natural outcome of such a fever, and would soon pass away. "It is better as it is," he said, and he toiled away, neglecting his studies, his great discovery, all for Leo's sake, that she might live and grow strong once more. "How beautiful!" he thought; and as she unconsciously suffered his attentions, receiving them as her right, as if she were a queen, Mary drank in all, and read the doctor's heart to the very deepest cell. But she made no sign. It was her lot to suffer, and she would bear all in silent patience to the end, working to make others happy if she could, but sorrowing the more, as she wished well to North, and tried to believe that, after all, Leo might change, and worthily return his love. For, after seeing her home, Tom Candlish sent twice to know how Leo was. After that he seemed to take no further notice, though he really spent his time in asking Dally Watlock about her mistress, as he called it-- questions which took a long time to ask and longer to gain replies. Leo never mentioned his name, but lay back reading, setting aside the book wearily when any one seemed disposed to converse, and taking up the book again as soon as whoever it was had done. Salis entered the room where North was seated conversing with Mary, whose pinched face bore a slight colour as she listened to his words, something he was saying being interrupted by the brother's entrance.