cession. I dared not try to look in. The house-door was
ajar, and I approached it cautiously. "Thank God!" I cried within myself
as I gazed eagerly into the cottage.

She was lying there upon the fern-bed, half asleep, her head fallen back
upon the pillow, and the book she had been reading dropped from her
hand. Her dress was of some coarse, dark-green stuff, which made a
charming contrast to her delicate face and bright hair. The whole
interior of the cottage formed a picture. The old furniture of oak,
almost black with age, the neutral tints of the wall and ceiling, and
the deep tone of her green dress, threw out into strong relief the
graceful, shining head, and pale face.

I suppose she became subtly conscious, as women always are, that
somebody's eyes were fixed upon her, for she awoke fully, and looked up
as I lingered on the door-sill.

"O Dr. Martin!" she cried, "I am so glad!"

She looked pleased enough to be upon the point of trying to raise
herself up in order to welcome me, but I interposed quickly. It was more
difficult than I had expected to assume a grave, professional tone, but
by an effort I did so. I bade her lie still, and took a chair at some
little distance.

"Tardif is gone out fishing," she said, "and his mother is gone away
too, to a christening-feast somewhere; but Mrs. Renouf is to be here in
an hour or two. I told them I could manage very well as long as that."

"They ought not to have left you alone," I replied.

"And I shall not be left alone," she said, smiling, "for you are come,
you see. I am rather glad they are away; for I wanted to tell you how
much I felt your goodness to me all through that dreadful week. You are
the first doctor I ever had about me, the very first. Perhaps you
thought I did not know what care you were taking of me; but, somehow or
other, I knew every thing. My mind did not quite go. You were very, very
good to me."

"Never mind that," I said; "I am come to see how my work is going on.
How is the arm, first of all?"

I almost wished that Mother Renouf or Suzanne Tardif had been at hand.
But Miss Ollivier seemed perfectly composed, as much so as a child. She
looked like one with her cropped head of hair, and frank, open face. My
own momentary embarrassment passed away. The arm was going on all right,
and so was Mother Renouf's charge, the sprained ankle.

"We must take care you are not lame," I said, while I was feeling
carefully the complicated joint of h