way, with a tray, stood Rosalie
Evanturel. The surgeon was so intent upon at once fortifying himself
that he did not see the look which passed between Rosalie and the
tailor.

Rosalie had been absent for two months. Her father had been taken
seriously ill the day after the critical episode in the but at Vadrome
Mountain, and she had gone with him to the hospital at Quebec, for an
operation. The Abbe Rossignol had undertaken to see them safely to the
hospital, and Jo Portugais, at his own request, was permitted to go in
attendance upon M. Evanturel.

There had been a hasty leave-taking between Charley and Rosalie, but
it was in the presence of others, and they had never spoken a word
privately together since the day she had said to him that where he went
she would go, in life or out of it.

"You have been gone two months," Charley said now, after their touch of
hands and voiceless greeting. "Two months yesterday," she answered.

"At sundown," he replied, in an even voice.

"The Angelus was ringing," she answered calmly, though her heart was
leaping and her hands were trembling. The doctor, instantly busy with
the cordial, had not noticed what they said.

"Won't you join me?" he asked, offering a glass to Charley.

"Spirits do not suit me," answered Charley. "Matter of constitution,"
rejoined the doctor, and buttoned up his coat, preparing to depart. He
came close to Charley. "Now, I don't want to put upon you, Monsieur," he
said, "but this sick man is valuable in the parish--you take me? Well,
it's a difficult, delicate case, and I'd be glad if I could rely on you
for a few days. The Cure would do, but you are young, you have a sense
of things--take me? Half the fees are yours if you'll keep a sharp eye
on him--three times a day, and be with him at night a while. Fever is
the thing I'm afraid of--temperature--this way, please!" He went to the
window, and for a minute engaged Charley in whispered conversation. "You
take me?" he said cheerily at last, as he turned again towards Rosalie.

"Quite, Monsieur," answered Charley, and drew away, for he caught the
odour of the doctor's breath, and a cold perspiration broke out over
him. He felt the old desire for drink sweeping through him. "I will do
what I can," he said.

"Come, my dear," the doctor said to Rosalie. "We will go and see your
father."

Charley's eyes had fastened on the bottles avidly. As Rosalie turned to
bid him good-bye, he said to her, almost hoars