There
was a feeling of almost repulsion which he
tried to conceal, and he was obliged to acknowledge
to himself that the presence of his wife
gave him rather uneasiness than comfort.
"Carl is very well off where he is," resumed
Mrs. Crawford. "He is filling a business
position, humble, perhaps, but still one that gives
him his living and keeps him out of mischief.
Let well enough alone, doctor, and don't
interrupt his plans."
"I--I may be foolish," said the doctor,
hesitating, "but I have not been feeling as well
as usual lately, and if anything should happen
to me while Carl was absent I should die
very unhappy."
Mrs. Crawford regarded her husband with
uneasiness.
"Do you mean that you think you are in
any danger?" she asked.
"I don't know. I am not an old man, but,
on the other hand, I am an invalid. My father
died when he was only a year older than
I am at present."
Mrs. Crawford drew out her handkerchief,
and proceeded to wipe her tearless eyes.
"You distress me beyond measure by your
words, my dear husband. How can I think
of your death without emotion? What should
I do without you?"
"My dear, you must expect to survive me.
You are younger than I, and much stronger."
"Besides," and Mrs. Crawford made an
artful pause, "I hardly like to mention it, but
Peter and I are poor, and by your death
might be left to the cold mercies of the world."
"Surely I would not fail to provide for you."
Mrs. Crawford shook her head.
"I am sure of your kind intentions, my husband,"
she said, "but they will not avail unless you provide
for me in your will.
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