The acts were simple, and usual in medicine, but there was a deep, patient, silent intensity about his way of doing them.
Mr.Lusignan crept nearer, and stood with both hands on a table, and his old head bowed, awaiting yet dreading the verdict.
Up to this time, Dr.Staines, instead of tapping and squeezing, and pulling the patient about, had never touched her with his hand, and only grazed her with his ear; but now he said "Allow me," and put both hands to her waist, more lightly and reverently than I can describe; "Now draw a deep breath, if you please." "There!" "If you could draw a deeper still," said he, insinuatingly.
"There, then!" said she, a little pettishly.
Dr.Staines's eye kindled.
"Hum!" said he.

Then, after a considerable pause, "Are you better or worse after each hemorrhage ?" "La!" said Rosa; "they never asked me that.

Why, better." "No faintness ?" "Not a bit." "Rather a sense of relief, perhaps ?" "Yes; I feel lighter and better." The examination was concluded.
Dr.Staines looked at Rosa, and then at her father.

The agony in that aged face, and the love that agony implied, won him, and it was to the parent he turned to give his verdict.
"The hemorrhage is from the lungs"-- Lusignan interrupted him: "From the lungs!" cried he, in dismay.
"Yes; a slight congestion of the lungs." "But not incurable! Oh, not incurable, doctor!" "Heaven forbid! It is curable--easily--by removing the cause." "And what is the cause ?" "The cause ?"--he hesitated, and looked rather uneasy.--"Well, the cause, sir, is--tight stays." The tranquillity of the meeting was instantly disturbed.

"Tight stays! Me!" cried Rosa.