time finding their friend unresponsive.

Finally one, a little bolder than the rest, came closer to him. "The
good Fraeulein," whispered the child, "she is much troubled for the
Master. Why is it that he comes not to his home?"

With a sigh and a smile, the Doctor went slowly up the hill to the
Master's house, where Fraeulein Fredrika was waiting anxiously. "Mine
brudder!" she cried; "is he ill?"

"No, no, Fraeulein," answered the Doctor, reassuringly, his heart made
tender by her distress. "Shall not Franz sit in my office to await the
infrequent patient while I take his place with his sister? You are glad
to see me, are you not, Fraeulein?"

The tint of faded roses came into the Fraeulein's face. "Mine brudder's
friend," she said simply, "is always most welcome."

She excused herself after a few minutes and began to bustle about in the
kitchen. Surely, thought the Doctor, it was pleasant to have a woman in
one's house, to bring orderly comfort into one's daily living. The
kettle sang cheerily and the Fraeulein hummed a little song under her
breath. In the twilight, the gay colours faded into a subdued harmony.

"It is all very pleasant," said the Doctor to himself, resolutely
putting aside a memory of something quite different. Perhaps, as his
simple friends said, the dear God knew.

After tea, the Fraeulein drew her chair to the window and looked out,
seemingly unconscious of his presence. "A rare woman," he told himself.
"One who has the gift of silence."

In the dusk, her face was almost beautiful--all the hard lines softened
and made tenderly wistful. The Doctor sighed and she turned uneasily.

"Mine brudder," she said, anxiously, "if something was wrong with him,
you would tell me, yes?"

"Of course," laughed the Doctor. "Why are you so distressed? Is it so
strange for me to be here?"

"No," she answered, in a low tone, "but you are mine brudder's friend."

"And yours also, Fredrika. Did you never think of that?" She trembled,
but did not answer, and, leaning forward, the Doctor took her hand in
his.

"Fredrika," he said, very gently, "you will perhaps think it is strange
for me to talk in this way, but have you never thought of me as
something more than a friend?"

The woman was silent and bitterly ashamed, wondering when and where she
had betrayed herself.

"That is unfair," he continued, instantly perceiving. "I have thought of
you in that way, more especially to-day." Even in the dusk, he