relief from care."

"I know, the call of duty--you will have to go. But, oh, my God! it is
very terrible."

"The fact is, this sudden good fortune for a time so set me at ease that
I lost sight of my honest craving for action. Now I ought to thank Ann
for making me see what I ought to do--must do. But how--how? It will
clear up somehow. Goodnight."

It was the end of March before McGregor told Penhallow that Mrs.
Penhallow insisted on seeing him. "Now, Squire," he said, "you will be
shocked at her appearance, but she is really well in body, and this thing
has got to be set at rest. She talks of it incessantly."

Penhallow entered the dimly lighted room and passed his old nurse, Mrs.
Lamb, as she whispered, "Don't stay long, sir." He was shocked as he won
clearer vision in the dim light.

"Oh, James!" she said, "they wouldn't let me see you. Open the shutters."
He obeyed, and kneeling kissed the wasted face he loved so well. The
commonplaces of life came to his aid as he kissed her again, and she
said, "Dear me, James, you haven't shaved to-day."

"No, I am going to stop at the barber's--but I miss Josiah."

She smiled. "Yes, poor Josiah."

Then he took courage, fearfully timid as men are when they confront the
illness of women. "I want to say to you, Ann, that having your power of
attorney I have withdrawn your fifty thousand dollars you had lent to the
mills. My partners were glad to take it." He said nothing of their
surprise at the offer.

"Thank you," she returned feebly. "And you are going on with the
business?" her voice rising as she spoke.

"We will talk of that later, Ann. I was told not to let you talk long.
I shall endeavour to invest your money so as to give you a reasonable
return--it will take time."

He did not succeed in diverting her attention. She put out a thin hand
and caught his sleeve. "Do you think me unreasonable, James?"

"Yes," he said, and it needed courage.

"I was sure you would say so." The great blue eyes, larger for the wasted
setting of nature's wonderful jewels, looked up at him in dumb appeal.
"Won't you think a little of how I feel--and--and shall feel?"

"Think a little--a little?" he returned; "I have done nothing else but
think."

"You don't answer me, James." There was the old quiet, persistent way
he had known in many happy days, reinforced by hysteric incapacity to
comprehend the maze of difficulties in which he was caught.

"It is a pity I did not die," she