tty a pinin'!" she repeated over and over with bursts of
merriment:

"Ah, but yez are all alike, ye men. Miss Hetty a pinin'! I 'd like to
see the man Miss Hetty wud pine fur."

Mike and Norah were both right. There was no "pining" in Hetty's busy
and sensible soul; but there had been planted in it a germ of new life,
whose slow quickening and growth were perplexing and disturbing
elements: not as yet did she recognize them; she only felt the
disturbance, and its link with Dr. Eben was sufficiently clear to make
her manner to him undergo an indefinable change. It was no less cordial,
no less frank: you could not have said where the change was; but it was
there, and he felt it. He ought to have understood it and taken heart.
But he was ignorant like Hetty, only felt the disturbance, and taking
counsel of his fears believed that things were going wrong. Sometimes he
would stay away for many days, and then watch closely Hetty's manner
when they met. Never a trace of resentment or even wonder at his
absence. Sometimes he would go there daily for an interval; never a
trace of expectation or of added familiarity. But now things were
changed. Little Raby's illness seemed to put them all back where they
were during the days of the sea-side idyl. Now the doctor felt himself
again needed. Both Hetty and Sally lived upon his words, even his looks.
Again and again the child's life seemed hanging in even balances, and it
was with a gratitude almost like that they felt to God that the two
women blessed Dr. Eben for his recovery. Night after night, the three
watched by the baby's bed, listening to his shrill and convulsive
breathings.

Morning after morning, Dr. Eben and Hetty went together out of the
chamber, and stood in the open doorway, watching the crimson dawn on the
eastern hills. At such times, the doctor felt so near Hetty that he was
repeatedly on the point of saying again the words of love he had spoken
six months before. But a great fear deterred him.

"If she refuses me once more, that would settle it for ever," he said to
himself, and forced the words back.

One morning after a night of great anxiety and fear, they left Sally's
room while it was yet dark. It was bitterly cold; the winter stars shone
keen and glittering in the bleak sky. Hetty threw on a heavy cloak, and
opening the hall-door, said:

"Let us go out into the cold air; it will do us good."

Silently they walked up and down the piazza. The great pine