Of all possible calamities, this was the last he had ever
contemplated. Sometimes, in moments of doubt or despondency, he had
thought it possible that poverty, the advice of friends, caprice or
inconstancy on the part of Charlotte herself, should sever them. But
among the possible enemies to his happiness he had never counted Death.
What had Death to do with so fair and happy a creature as Charlotte
Halliday? she who, until some two months before this time, might have
been the divine Hygieia in person--so fresh was her youthful bloom, so
buoyant her step, so bright her glances. Valentine's hardest penance was
the necessity for the concealment of his anxiety. The idea that
Charlotte's illness might be--nay, must be--for the greater part an
affair of the nerves was always paramount in his mind. He and Diana had
talked of the subject together whenever they found an opportunity for so
doing, and had comforted themselves with the assurance that the nerves
alone were to blame; and they were the more inclined to think this from
the conduct of Dr. Doddleson, on that physician's visits to Miss
Halliday. Mrs. Sheldon had been present on each occasion, and to Mrs.
Sheldon alone had the physician given utterance to his opinion of the
case. That opinion, though expressed with a certain amount of
professional dignity, amounted to very little. "Our dear young friend
wanted strength; and what we had to do was to give our dear young friend
strength--vital power.
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