Then brother and sister sat talking, for the drawing-room door had closed, and they could hear the low, dull murmurings of the doctor's voice. He had entered the drawing-room, where, looking extremely beautiful in her _negligee_ habit, and refined by illness, Leo lay upon her couch by the fire, for the spring was cold, and as he entered she lowered her book and smiled. It was a good augury, and with beating heart Horace North advanced and took her hand--to ask this woman to be his wife. CHAPTER TWENTY TWO. DR NORTH PROPOSES. As Horace North took the hand of Leo Salis in his, it was to find it soft and cool and moist--very different from the burning palm he had so often held a few months since. It was without a tremble, but it sent a thrill through him; and with eyes flashing and revelling in his new joy, he was about to speak, when she half threw herself back in her chair with a movement of resignation which came upon him like a _douche_. He knew it so well. He read it and understood it as plainly as if she had spoken. It was the patient waiting for him to feel her pulse. "I thought you had given me up," she said lightly. "Given you up--you whom I love!" Those were the words he wanted to say, but they would not come now after the damping he had received, and involuntarily his fingers glided slowly to her wrist, and he held them pressed against the calmly-beating pulse, gazing down at her half-averted eyes the while. There was no coquetry, no playful manner; she was as calm and resigned as any patient he had ever visited, and yet, time back, she had clung to him, gazed passionately into his eyes, and whispered of her love. Was it delirium? He could not bring himself to say; but even if it were, she must at heart have loved him, and in her abnormal state have confessed what she would sooner have died than said when well. The moments glided by, and he still held her wrist in the most professional manner, till, apparently surprised, she raised her eyebrows, opened her languid eyes, and looked up at him. "Well, doctor," she said, half laughing, "loth to part with your patient? I am quite well." He was dumb. A whirlwind of emotion was sweeping through him, as he vainly sought to shape his course. Could he tell her of her passionate avowal, or would it be too cowardly to take advantage of her past weakness? He could not recall that--not now. Some day, perhaps, he might; but now he felt that he must approach her unarmed. She was delirious, and her brain must be a blank to all that had passed, and he would speak plainly--conventionally. "Why, doctor," she said at last, half-wonderingly, "of what are you thinking?" "Thinking?" he said hoarsely. "Yes; you look so serious. Surely I am not going to have a relapse?" "Oh, no!" he cried. "Then why do you look at me like this?"