"Let me do that much, Dexie?" was the low, whispered words, as he took the
fan from Dexie's fingers.
He drew a chair softly to the bedside, and kept up the gentle motion until
Guy felt assured that the sufferer was asleep.
Dexie was kneeling by the bedside, intently watching her father's face
through her tears, and she started when Guy laid his hand across her
clasped palms, and whispered, "Come away, Dexie; he is sleeping."
She rose at his bidding, and he drew her to the window.
"This has been very hard on you, Dexie, and you have borne it bravely," he
whispered softly, holding her trembling hands in his own. "Do not try to
hide the tears from me. Am I not your friend?"
The touch of his hand and the tenderness of his voice touched a chord in
Dexie's heart and sent a thrill through every nerve, and she raised her
eyes to his for one brief moment; but in that short time she read a story
that might have filled a volume, and no one could now say of her that "her
heart had not yet awakened," for she knew the truth at last.
The appearance of Mrs. Jarvis at this moment was a welcome relief to Dexie,
and giving a hasty account of her father's late attack she hurried from the
room.
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