Other Things Being Equal | Page 9

his stern, brusque voice, the long quivering shriek
stopped halfway.
"Be perfectly still," he continued, holding her firmly. "Obey this
instant," as she began to whimper; "not a sound must I hear."
Ruth and her father stood spell-bound at the effect of the stranger's
measures. For a moment Mrs. Levice had started in affright to scream;
but the deep, commanding tone, the powerful hands upon her shoulders,
the impressive, unswerving eye that held hers, soon began to act almost
hypnotically. The sobbing gradually ceased; the shaking limbs slowly
regained their calm; and as she sank upon the cushions the strained
look in her eyes melted. She was feebly smiling up at the doctor in
response to his own persuasive smile that gradually succeeded the
gravity of his countenance.
"That is well," said he, speaking soothingly as to a child, and still
keeping his smiling eyes upon hers. "Now just close your eyes for a
minute; see, I have your hand, --so. Go to sleep."
There was not a sound in the room; Ruth stood where she had been
placed, and Mr. Levice was behind the doctor, his face quite colorless,
scarcely daring to breathe. Finally the faint, even breathing of Mrs.

Levice told that she slept.
Kemp turned to Mr. Levice and spoke low, not in a whisper, which
hisses, but his voice was so hushed that it would not have disturbed the
lightest sleeper.
"Put your hand, palm up, under hers. I am going to withdraw my hand
and retire, as I do not wish to excite her; she will probably open her
eyes in a few moments. Take her home as quietly as you can."
"You will call to-morrow?" whispered Levice.
He quietly assented.
"Now be deft." The transfer was quickly made, and nodding cheerfully,
Dr. Kemp left the room.
Ruth came forward. Five minutes later Mrs. Levice opened her eyes.
"Why, what has happened?" she asked languidly.
"You fell asleep, Esther," replied her husband, gently.
"Yes, I know; but why is Ruth in that gown? Oh--ye-es!"
Consciousness was returning to her. "And who was that handsome man
who was here?"
"A friend of Ruth."
"He is very strong," she observed pensively. She lay back in her chair
for a few minutes as if dreaming. Suddenly she started up.
"What thoughtless people we are! Let us go back to the drawing-room,
or they will think something dreadful has happened."
"No, Mamma; I do not feel at all like going back. Stay here with Father
while I get our wraps."
Before Mrs. Levice could demur, Ruth had left the room. As she turned

in the direction of the stairs, she was rather startled by a hand laid upon
her shoulder.
"Oh, you, Louis! I am going for our wraps."
"Here they are. How is my aunt?"
"She is quite herself again. Thanks for the wraps. Will you call up the
carriage, Louis? We shall go immediately, but do not think of coming
yourself."
"Nonsense! Tell your mother you have made your adieux to Mrs.
Merrill, --she understands; the carriage is waiting."
A few minutes later the Levices and Louis Arnold quietly stole away.
Mrs. Levice has had an attack of hysteria. "Nothing at all," the world
said, and dismissed it as carelessly as most of the quiet turning-points
in a life-history are dismissed.
Chapter III
The Levices' house stood well back upon its grounds, almost with an
air of reserve in comparison with the rows of stately, bay-windowed
houses that faced it and hedged it in on both sides. But the broad,
sweeping lawns, the confusion of exquisite roses and heliotropes, the
open path to the veranda, whereon stood an hospitable garden settee
and chair, the long French windows open this summer's morning to sun
and air, told an inviting tale.
As Dr. Kemp ascended the few steps leading to the front door, he
looked around approvingly.
"Not a bad berth for the grave little bookworm," he mused as he rang
the bell.
It was immediately answered by the "grave little bookworm" in person.
"I've been on the lookout for you for the past hour," he explained,

leading him into the library and turning the key of the door as they
entered.
It was a cosey room, not small or low, as the word would suggest, but
large and airy; the cosiness was supplied by comfortable easy-chairs, a
lounge or two, a woman's low rocker, an open piano, a few soft
engravings on the walls, and books in cases, books on tables, books on
stands, books everywhere. Two long lace-draped windows let in a flood
of searching sunlight that brought to light not an atom of dust in the
remotest corner. It is the prerogative of every respectable Jewess to
keep her house as clean as if at any moment a search-warrant