in. Gordon at last seemed to have
finished whatever he was doing with the bottles. He left them and sat
down in his chair. The dog left James and went to him, but Gordon pushed
him away roughly. Then Gordon spoke to James without turning his face in
his direction. "I wish you would go upstairs," he said hoarsely. "Mrs.
Blair is alone, and I--I am about done too."

James obeyed without a word. When he reached the head of the stairs he
felt a sudden draught of cold wind. Mrs. Blair came out of the
sick-room, closing the door behind her. Her face looked as stern as fate
itself. James knew what had happened the moment he saw her.

James began to speak stammeringly, but she stopped him. "Call Doctor
Gordon," she said shortly. "She is dead."

CHAPTER XIII

About two weeks after the death of Doctor Gordon's wife James went to
the post office before beginning his round of calls. Lately nearly all
the practice had devolved upon him. Gordon seemed sunken in a gloomy
apathy, from which he could rouse himself only for the most urgent
necessities. Once aroused he was fully himself, but for the most part he
sat in his office smoking or seemingly half-asleep. Once in a while a
very sick patient acted upon him as a momentary stimulus, but Alton was
unusually healthy just then. After an open and, for the most part,
snowless winter, which had occasioned much sickness, the spring brought
frost and light falls of snow, which seemed to give new life to people
in spite of unseasonableness. James had had little difficulty in
attending to most of the practice, although he was necessarily away from
home the greater part of the time. However, he often took Clemency with
him, and she would sit well wrapped up in the buggy reading a book while
he made calls. Then there were the long drives over solitary roads,
which, though rough, causing the wheels to jolt heavily in deep ridges
of frozen soil, or sink into the red mud almost to the hubs, as the case
might be, seemed like roads of Paradise to the young man. Although he
himself grieved for Gordon's wife, and Gordon himself filled him with
covert anxiety, yet he was young and the girl was young, and they were
both released from a miserable sense of insecurity and mystery, which
had irritated and saddened them; their thoughts now turned toward their
own springtime, as naturally and innocently as flowers bloom. There was
grief, and the shadow of trouble, but of past trouble; their eyes loo