. "It
will all be better to-morrow," said Nan, as they stood on the steps at
last. "You must come to see Aunt Nancy very often after I have gone,
for she will be lonely. And do come in the morning as if nothing had
been spoken. I am so sorry. Good-night, and God bless you," she
whispered; and when she stood inside the wide doorway, in the dark,
she listened to his footsteps as he went away down the street. They
were slower than usual, but she did not call him back.

XXI

AT HOME AGAIN

In Oldfields Dr. Leslie had outwardly lived the familiar life to which
his friends and patients had long since accustomed themselves; he had
seemed a little preoccupied, perhaps, but if that were observed, it
was easily explained by his having one or two difficult cases to think
about. A few persons suspected that he missed Nan, and was, perhaps, a
little anxious lest her father's people in Dunport should claim her
altogether. Among those who knew best the doctor and his ward there
had been an ardent championship of Nan's rights and dignity, and a
great curiosity to know the success of the visit. Dr. Leslie had
answered all questions with composure, and with a distressing
meagreness of details; but at length Mrs. Graham became sure that he
was not altogether free from anxiety, and set her own quick wits at
work to learn the cause. It seemed a time of great uncertainty, at any
rate. The doctor sometimes brought one of Nan's bright, affectionate
letters for his neighbor to read, and they agreed that this holiday
was an excellent thing for her, but there was a silent recognition of
the fact that this was a critical time in the young girl's history;
that it either meant a new direction of her life or an increased
activity in the old one. Mrs. Graham was less well than usual in these
days, and the doctor found time to make more frequent visits than
ever, telling himself that she missed Nan's pleasant companionship,
but really wishing as much to receive sympathy as to give it. The dear
old lady had laughingly disclaimed any desire to summon her children
or grandchildren, saying that she was neither ill enough to need them,
nor well enough to enjoy them; and so in the beautiful June weather
the two old friends became strangely dear to each other, and had many
a long talk which the cares of the world or their own reserve had made
them save until this favoring season.

The doctor was acknowledged to be an old man at last, though every