at ain't nothin' to worry over--that's something to be glad of. You
heard about it, of course?"

"Yes, Morgan told me. Twenty years will make a great difference in
Bart. It must have been a great surprise to you, captain."

Both Jane and the captain tried to read the doctor's face, and both
failed. Doctor John might have been commenting on the weather or some
equally unimportant topic, so light and casual was his tone.

He turned to Jane again.

"Come, dear--please," he begged. It was only when he was anxious about
her physical condition or over some mental trouble that engrossed her
that he spoke thus. The words lay always on the tip of his tongue, but
he never let them fall unless someone was present to overhear.

"You are wrong, John," she answered, bridling her shoulders as if to
reassure him. "I am not tired--I have a little headache, that's all."
With the words she pressed both hands to her temples and smoothed back
her hair--a favorite gesture when her brain fluttered against her skull
like a caged pigeon. "I will go home, but not now--this afternoon,
perhaps. Come for me then, please," she added, looking up into his face
with a grateful expression.

The captain picked up his cap and rose from his seat. One of his dreams
was the marriage of these two. Episodes like this only showed him the
clearer what lay in their hearts. The doctor's anxiety and Jane's
struggle to bear her burdens outside of his touch and help only
confirmed the old sea-dog in his determination. When Bart had his way,
he said to himself, all this would cease.

"I'll be goin' along," he said, looking from one to the other and
putting on his cap. "See you later, Miss Jane. Morgan's back ag'in to
work, thanks to you, doctor. That was a pretty bad sprain he had--he's
all right now, though; went on practice yesterday. I'm glad of
it--equinox is comin' on and we can't spare a man, or half a one, these
days. May be blowin' a livin' gale 'fore the week's out. Good-by, Miss
Jane; good-by, doctor." And he shut the door behind him.

With the closing of the door the sound of wheels was heard--a crisp,
crunching sound--and then the stamping of horses' feet. Max Feilding's
drag, drawn by the two grays and attended by the diminutive Bones, had
driven up and now stood beside the stone steps of the front door of the
hospital. The coats of the horses shone like satin and every hub and
plate glistened in the sunshine. On the seat, the reins in one pretty