he waited--only waited. She did
not know how long a time passed before she felt herself drawn back from
the silent and shadowy places--awakening, as it were, to the sounds in
the church.

"Our Father," she began to say, as simply as a child. "Our Father who
art in Heaven--hallowed be thy name." There was a stirring among the
congregation, and sounds of feet, as the people began to move down the
aisle in reverent slowness. She caught again the occasional sound of a
subdued sob. Rosalie gently touched her, and she rose, following her out
of the big pew and passing down the aisle after the villagers.

Outside the entrance the people waited as if they wanted to see her
again. Foreheads were touched as before, and eyes followed her. She was
to the general mind the centre of the drama, and "the A'mighty" would
do well to hear her. She had been doing his work for him "same as his
lordship." They did not expect her to smile at such a time, when she
returned their greetings, and she did not, but they said afterwards, in
their cottages, that "trouble or not she was a wonder for looks, that
she was--Miss Vanderpoel."

Rosalie slipped a hand through her arm, and they walked home together,
very close to each other. Now and then there was a questioning in Rosy's
look. But neither of them spoke once.

On an oak table in the hall a letter from Mr. Penzance was lying. It
was brief, hurried, and anxious. The rumour that Mount Dunstan had been
ailing was true, and that they had felt they must conceal the matter
from the villagers was true also. For some baffling reason the fever
had not absolutely declared itself, but the young doctors were beset
by grave forebodings. In such cases the most serious symptoms might
suddenly develop. One never knew. Mr. Penzance was evidently torn by
fears which he desperately strove to suppress. But Betty could see the
anguish on his fine old face, and between the lines she read dread and
warning not put into words. She believed that, fearing the worst, he
felt he must prepare her mind.

"He has lived under a great strain for months," he ended. "It began long
before the outbreak of the fever. I am not strong under my sense of the
cruelty of things--and I have never loved him as I love him to-day."

Betty took the letter to her room, and read it two or three times.
Because she had asked intelligent questions of the medical authority she
had consulted on her visit to London, she knew something of the fe