Fontenette, "such a
beautiful faith!" The doctor thought it mostly words, among which "de Lawd
willin'" so constantly recurred that out of the sick-room he always
alluded to her as D.V., though never without a certain sincere regard.
This kind old soul had nursed much yellow fever in her time, and it did
not occur to us that maybe her time was past.
When Mrs. Fontenette had been ill something over a week, the doctor one
evening made us glad by saying as he came through the little dining-room
and jerked a thumb back toward Fontenette's door, "Just keep him as he is
for one more night and, I promise you, he'll get well; but!"--He sat down
on the couch--Senda's--in the parlor, and pointed at the door to Mrs.
Fontenette's room--"You've got to be careful _how_ you let even that be
known--in there! She can get well too--if--" And he went on to tell how in
this ailment all the tissues of the body sink into such frail
deterioration, that so slight a thing as the undue thrill of an emotion,
may rend some inner part of the soul's house and make it hopelessly
untenable.
"Iss sat not se condition vhat make it so easy to relapse?" asked Senda.
He said it was, I think, and went his way, little knowing to what a night
he was leaving us--except for its celestial beauty, upon which he
expatiated as I stepped with him to the gate.
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