expression of her love, but which was certainly there.
Yet he did not analyze it; he did not care to realize that perhaps she
feared to speak of what was so real to her, because she knew he had no
help for her. Dr. Howe would have perfectly understood that this must
inevitably create a distance between them; but it would have been
extremely painful to have let this creep into his thoughts, just as it
would have been painful for him had she spoken of it; so he preferred to
say to himself that all was well. The child had gotten over all that
foolishness; he would have disliked to find fault with her, as he must
have done had she mentioned it; he was glad it was all forgotten. He was
glad, too, Lois was going to Lockhaven to see her. Poor little Lois! Ah,
poor Denner! Well, well, there are some very sad things in life. And he
lifted his mug of mulled wine, and drank thoughtfully, and then crossed
his legs again on the fender; and the rain beat and sobbed outside.

He wondered if Lois's pale face had any connection with the departure of
the Forsythes. Mrs. Dale had hinted at it, though she had not dared to
quote Arabella Forsythe's triumphant secret. Then he remembered how
disappointed he had been that nothing came of that affair. But on the
whole it would have been very lonely at the rectory without Lois. It was
just as well. Dr. Howe generally found that most things were "just as
well." Indeed, he had been heard to say that, with a good digestion, any
sorrow showed itself to have been best inside three years. Perhaps he had
forgotten for the moment that he was a widower; but at all events, he
said it.

So he blew his logs to a brighter blaze, and drank the rest of his mulled
wine, stirring it round and round for the nutmeg and spice, and said to
himself, listening to the beat of the rain as he pulled Max's silky ears,
that it was the worst June storm he remembered. Perhaps that was why he
did not hear the front door open and close with a bang against the gust
which tried to force its way into the house, blowing out the hall lights,
and sending a dash of rain into Sally's face.

"Lord!" cried Sally, with a shrill scream, "it's Miss Helen's ghost!"

The face she saw was ghost-like indeed. It was wet and streaming with
rain, and the dark eyes were strange and unseeing.

"Do not tell Miss Lois I am here," the pale lips said. "Where is my
uncle? I must see him."

Sally could only point speechlessly to the library door. H