Page:Elizabeth Jordan--Tales of the cloister.djvu/220

 "From your grateful patient," she read. "With the deepest appreciation of all your kindness," ran another. "To the dear doctor to whom I owe my merry Christmas," was the inscription of a third. She dropped them with a sigh, looked out of the window, and then, with her characteristic walk, began pacing up and down the long room, her hands clasped behind her and her forehead puckered with thought and anxiety.

"The doctor's worried over some case," the maid reported to the cook. "I can always tell when she's anxious."

Dr. Van Nest's footsteps on the polished floor echoed rather inharmoniously in the large room. On the hearth a bright fire sparkled, but its cheery invitation did not lure her from her restless tramp. Before her there were al ways the same pale face and dark eyes pathetically full of love and trust. The doctor uttered a sigh that was almost a groan as she at last sank into a chair before the grate and looked into the glowing coals. They formed at once into the outlines of the haunting face.

"I am going to lose that case," she thought, forebodingly. "And I'm going to have a nervous collapse, too," she continued, with grim conviction. "I never felt like this before. I have no confidence in myself. I am as