you."

The boat was too far off for me to see how my sudden appearance affected
Olivia. Did she turn white or red at the sound of my voice? By the time
it neared the shore, and I plunged in knee-deep to meet it, her face was
bright with smiles, and her hands were stretched out to help me over the
boat's side.

If Tardif had not been there, I should have kissed them both. As it was,
I tucked up my wet legs out of reach of her dress, and took an oar,
unable to utter a word of the gladness I felt.

I recovered myself in a few seconds, and touched her hand, and grasped
Tardif's with almost as much force as he gripped mine.

"Where are you going to?" I asked, addressing neither of them in
particular.

"Tardif was going to row me past the entrance to the Gouliot Caves,"
answered Olivia, "but we will put it off now. We will return to the
shore, and hear all your adventures, Dr. Martin. You come upon us like a
phantom, and take an oar in ghostly silence. Are you really, truly
there?"

"I am no phantom," I said, touching her hand again. "No, we will not go
back to the shore. Tardif shall row us to the caves, and I will take you
into them, and then we two will return along the cliffs. Would you like
that, mam'zelle?"

"Very much," she answered, the smile still playing about her face. It
was brown and freckled with exposure to the sun, but so full of health
and life as to be doubly beautiful to me, who saw so many wan and sickly
faces. There was a bloom and freshness about her, telling of pure air,
and peaceful hours and days spent in the sunshine. I was seated on the
bench before Tardif, with my back to him, and Olivia was in front of
me--she, and the gorgeous cliffs, and the glistening sea, and the
cloudless sky overhead. No, there is no language on earth that could
paint the rapture of that moment.

"Doctor," said Tardif's deep, grave voice behind me, "your mother, is
she better?"

It was like the sharp prick of a poniard, which presently you knew must
pierce your heart.

The one moment of rapture had fled. The paradise, that had been about me
for an instant, with no hint of pain, faded out of my sight. But Olivia
remained, and her face grew sad, and her voice low and sorrowful, as she
leaned forward to speak to me.

"I have been so grieved for you," she said. "Your mother came to see me
once, and promised to be my friend. Is it true? Is she so very ill?"
"Quite true," I answered, in a choking voice.

We said