me?"

The minister put out his hand with the impatience which a man might show
if he were asked how he recognized his brother. "Tuts!" he said, in
familiar speech; then more solemnly, "How should I not recognize a person
that I know better--far better--than I know you?"

"Then you saw the man?"

Dr. Moncrieff made no reply. He moved his hand again with a little
impatient movement, and walked on, leaning heavily on my arm. And we went
on for a long time without another word, threading the dark paths, which
were steep and slippery with the damp of the winter. The air was very
still,--not more than enough to make a faint sighing in the branches,
which mingled with the sound of the water to which we were descending.
When we spoke again, it was about indifferent matters,--about the height
of the river, and the recent rains. We parted with the minister at his
own door, where his old housekeeper appeared in great perturbation,
waiting for him. "Eh, me, minister! the young gentleman will be worse?"
she cried.

"Far from that--better. God bless him!" Dr. Moncrieff said.

I think if Simson had begun again to me with his questions, I should have
pitched him over the rocks as we returned up the glen; but he was silent,
by a good inspiration. And the sky was clearer than it had been for many
nights, shining high over the trees, with here and there a star faintly
gleaming through the wilderness of dark and bare branches. The air, as I
have said, was very soft in them, with a subdued and peaceful cadence. It
was real, like every natural sound, and came to us like a hush of peace
and relief. I thought there was a sound in it as of the breath of a
sleeper, and it seemed clear to me that Roland must be sleeping,
satisfied and calm. We went up to his room when we went in. There we
found the complete hush of rest. My wife looked up out of a doze, and
gave me a smile: "I think he is a great deal better; but you are very
late," she said in a whisper, shading the light with her hand that the
Doctor might see his patient. The boy had got back something like his own
color. He woke as we stood all round his bed. His eyes had the happy,
half-awakened look of childhood, glad to shut again, yet pleased with the
interruption and glimmer of the light. I stooped over him and kissed his
forehead, which was moist and cool. "All is well, Roland," I said. He
looked up at me with a glance of pleasure, and took my hand and laid his
cheek upon it, and s