lady ever since he had heard of
Bart's resurrection. He had also been thinking of Jane and Archie.
These last thoughts tightened his throat; they had also kept him awake
the past few nights.

The doctor bowed with one of his Sir Roger bows, lifted his hat first
to Jane in all dignity and reverence, and then to Lucy with a
flourish--keeping up outwardly the gayety of the occasion and seconding
her play of humor--walked to the shed where his horse was tied and
drove off. He knew these moods of Lucy's; knew they were generally
assumed and that they always concealed some purpose--one which neither
a frown nor a cutting word nor an outbreak of temper would accomplish;
but that fact rarely disturbed him. Then, again, he was never anything
but courteous to her--always remembering Jane's sacrifice and her pride
in her.

"And now, you dear, let us go somewhere where we can be quiet," Lucy
cried, slipping her arm around Jane's slender waist and moving toward
the hall.

With the entering of the bare room lined with bottles and cases of
instruments her enthusiasm began to cool. Up to this time she had done
all the talking. Was Jane tired out nursing? she asked herself; or did
she still feel hurt over her refusal to take Ellen with her for the
summer? She had remembered for days afterward the expression on her
face when she told of her plans for the summer and of her leaving Ellen
at Yardley; but she knew this had all passed out of her sister's mind.
This was confirmed by Jane's continued devotion to Ellen and her many
kindnesses to the child. It was true that whenever she referred to her
separation from Ellen, which she never failed to do as a sort of probe
to be assured of the condition of Jane's mind, there was no direct
reply--merely a changing of the topic, but this had only proved Jane's
devotion in avoiding a subject which might give her beautiful sister
pain. What, then, was disturbing her to-day? she asked herself with a
slight chill at her heart. Then she raised her head and assumed a
certain defiant air. Better not notice anything Jane said or did; if
she was tired she would get rested and if she was provoked with her she
would get pleased again. It was through her affections and her
conscience that she could hold and mould her sister Jane--never through
opposition or fault-finding. Besides, the sun was too bright and the
air too delicious, and she herself too blissfully happy to worry over
anything. In time all these