tern ranges, Dr. Bradley again entered the
sick-room. The room was flooded with golden light, and the physician was
quick to note the changes which the few hours had wrought in the sick
man. The fever had gone and, his strength spent, his splendid energies
exhausted, life's forces were ebbing moment by moment.

"He is sinking fast," said Mrs. Dean.

Even as she spoke a smile stole over the pallid features; then, as they
watched eagerly for some token of returning consciousness, the nervous
system, so long strained to its utmost tension, suddenly relaxed and
utter collapse followed.

For hours Darrell lay as one dead, an occasional fluttering about the
heart being the only sign of life. But late in the forenoon of the
following day the watchers by the bedside, noting each feeble pulsation,
thinking it might be the last, felt an almost imperceptible quickening
of the life current. Gradually the fluttering pulse grew calm and
steady, the faint respirations grew deeper and more regular, until at
length, with a long, tremulous sigh, Darrell sank into slumber sweet and
restful as a child's, and the watchers knew that the crisis had passed.

_Chapter V_

JOHN BRITTON

It was on one of those glorious October days, when every breath quickens
the blood and when simply to live is a joy unspeakable, that Darrell
first walked abroad into the outdoor world. Several times during his
convalescence he had sunned himself on the balcony opening from his
room, or when able to go downstairs had paced feebly up and down the
verandas, but of late his strength had returned rapidly, so that now,
accompanied by his physician, he was walking back and forth over the
gravelled driveway under the pine-trees, his step gaining firmness with
every turn.

Seated on the veranda were Mr. Underwood and his sister, the one with
his pipe and newspaper, the other with her knitting; but the newspaper
had slipped unheeded to the floor, and though Mrs. Dean's skilful
fingers did not slacken their work for an instant, yet her eyes, like
her brother's, were fastened upon Darrell, and a shade of pity might
have been detected in the look of each, which the occasion at first
sight hardly seemed to warrant.

"Poor fellow!" said Mr. Underwood, at length; "it's hard for a young man
to be handicapped like that!"

"Yes," assented his sister, "and he takes it hard, too, though he
doesn't say much. I can't bear to look in his eyes sometimes, they look
so