He looked anxiously at
Bernard, who moaned a little and turned his head away. "Nay, now,
Bernard," entreated his sister; "look up at the good man, he that
sent you the sugar-balls. He is come to try to make you well."
Bernard let her coax him to give his poor little wasted hand to the
leech, and looked with wonder in his heavy eyes at the stranger, who
felt his pulse, and asked to have him lifted up for better
examination. There was at first a dismal little whine at being
touched and moved, but when a pleasantly acid drop was put into his
little parched mouth, he smiled with brief content. His mother
evidently expected that both he and she herself would be relieved on
the spot, but the Apothecary durst not be hopeful, though he gave the
child a draught which he called a febrifuge, and which put him to
sleep, and bade the lady take another of the like if she wished for a
good night's rest.
He added, however, that the best remedy would be a pilgrimage to
Lindisfarne, which, be it observed, really meant absence from the
foul, close, feverish air of the castle, and all the evil odours of
the court. To the lady he thought it would really be healing, but he
doubted whether the poor little boy was not too far gone for such
revival; indeed, he made no secret that he believed the child was
stricken for death.
"Then what boots all your vaunted chirurgery!" cried the mother
passionately.
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