he saw her sitting in her big chair, gazing out into
nothing visible, her whole face settled in melancholy. He asked her if
she were ill, and she recalled herself at once, but confessed to feeling
tired. Soon after this he noticed that she lingered longer in the
comfortable depths of her chair, and seldom went out, except with
himself. She insisted that she was quite well, but after he had
surprised her again looking as sad as if she had renounced every joy of
childhood, he summoned from London a doctor renowned for his success
with children.

The scientist questioned and examined her. When she had left the room he
shrugged his shoulders.

"She might have been born with ten years of life in her, or she might
grow up into a buxom woman," he said. "I confess I cannot tell. She
appears to be sound enough, but I have no X-rays in my eyes, and for all
I know she may be on the verge of decay. She certainly has the look of
those who die young. I have never seen so spiritual a child. But I can
put my finger on nothing. Keep her out-of-doors, don't give her sweets,
and don't let her catch anything if you can help it."

Orth and the child spent the long warm days of summer under the trees of
the park, or driving in the quiet lanes. Guests were unbidden, and his
pen was idle. All that was human in him had gone out to Blanche. He
loved her, and she was a perpetual delight to him. The rest of the world
received the large measure of his indifference. There was no further
change in her, and apprehension slept and let him sleep. He had
persuaded Mrs. Root to remain in England for a year. He sent her theatre
tickets every week, and placed a horse and phaeton at her disposal. She
was enjoying herself and seeing less and less of Blanche. He took the
child to Bournemouth for a fortnight, and again to Scotland, both of
which outings benefited as much as they pleased her. She had begun to
tyrannize over him amiably, and she carried herself quite royally. But
she was always sweet and truthful, and these qualities, combined with
that something in the depths of her mind which defied his explorations,
held him captive. She was devoted to him, and cared for no other
companion, although she was demonstrative to her mother when they met.

It was in the tenth month of this idyl of the lonely man and the lonely
child that Mrs. Root flurriedly entered the library of Chillingsworth,
where Orth happened to be alone.

"Oh, sir," she exclaimed, "I mu