mind keeps runnin' on Bible
questions, and it 'll interest him to go out there; and we can make him
believe it's just to bang around for the winter. He's terrible hopeful."
Now that she began to speak, all her long-repressed anxiety poured
itself out, and she hitched her chair nearer to Westover and wistfully
clutched his sleeve. "That's the worst of Jackson. You can't make him
believe anything's the matter. Sometimes I can't bear to hear him go on
about himself as if he was a well young man. He expects that medium's
stuff is goin' to cure him!"

"People sick in that way are always hopeful," said Westover.

"Oh, don't I know it! Ha'n't I seen my children and my husband--Oh, do
ask that doctor to answer as quick as he can!"

XXVI.

Westover had a difficulty in congratulating Jeff which he could scarcely
define to himself, but which was like that obscure resentment we feel
toward people whom we think unequal to their good fortune. He was
ashamed of his grudge, whatever it was, and this may have made
him overdo his expressions of pleasure. He was sensible of a false
cordiality in them, and he checked himself in a flow of forced sentiment
to say, more honestly: "I wish you'd speak to Cynthia for me. You know
how much I think of her, and how much I want to see her happy. You ought
to be a very good fellow, Jeff!"

"I'll tell her that; she'll like that," said Jeff. "She thinks the world
of you."

"Does she? Well!"

"And I guess she'll be glad you sent word. She's been wondering what you
would say; she's always so afraid of you."

"Is she? You're not afraid of me, are you? But perhaps you don't think
so much of me."

"I guess Cynthia and I think alike on that point," said Jeff, without
abating Westover's discomfort.

There was a stress of sharp cold that year about the 20th of August.
Then the weather turned warm again, and held fine till the beginning of
October, within a week of the time when Jackson was to sail. It had not
been so hard to make him consent when he knew where the doctor wished
him to go, and he had willingly profited by Westover's suggestions about
getting to Egypt. His interest in the matter, which he tried to hide at
first under a mask of decorous indifference, mounted with the fire of
Whitwell's enthusiasm, and they held nightly councils together, studying
his course on the map, and consulting planchette upon the points at
variance that rose between them, while Jombateeste sat with his c