ountered at
the gate, Dolly almost fell back; took her hand from the latch, and
only put it forth again when she saw that her father could not readily
get the gate open. He was looking ill; his gait was tottering, his eye
wavering, and when he spoke his utterance was confused. Dolly felt as
if a lump of ice had suddenly come where her heart used to be.

"You are not well, father?" she said as they went up the walk together.

"Well enough," returned Mr. Copley--"all right directly. Cursed wet
weather--got soaked to the bone--haven't got warm yet."

"Wet weather!" said Dolly; "why, it is very sunny and warm. What are
you thinking of, father?"

"Sun don't _always_ shine in England," said Mr. Copley. "Let me get in
and have a cup of tea or coffee. You don't keep such a thing as brandy
in the house, do you?"

"You have had brandy enough already," said Dolly in a low, grave voice.
"I will make some coffee. Come in--why, you are trembling, father! Are
you _cold?_"

"Haven't been warm for three days. Cold? yes. Coffee, Dolly, let me
have some coffee. It's the vilest climate a man ever lived in."

"Why, father," said Dolly, laying her hand on his sleeve, "your coat is
wet! What have you done to yourself?"

"Wet? no,--it isn't. I put on a dry coat to come down--wouldn't be
such a fool as to put on a wet one. Coffee, Dolly! It's cold enough for
a fire."

"But how _did_ your coat get wet, father?"

"'Tisn't wet. I left a wet coat in London--had enough of it. If you go
out in England you must get wet. Give me some coffee, if you haven't
got any brandy. I tell you, I've never been warm since."

Dolly ran up stairs, where Mrs. Copley was making a little alteration
in her dress.

"Mother," she cried, "will you go down and take care of father? He is
not well; I am afraid he has taken cold; I am going to make him some
coffee as fast as I can. Get him to change his coat;--it is wet."

Then Dolly ran down again, every nerve in her trembling, but forcing
herself to go steadily and methodically to work. She made a cup of
strong coffee, cooked a nice bit of beefsteak she had in the house,
rejoicing that she had it; and while the steak was doing she made a
plate of toast, such as she knew both father and mother were fond of.
In half an hour she had it all ready and carried it up on a tray. Mrs.
Copley was sitting with an anxious and perplexed face watching her
husband; he had crept to the empty fireplace and was leaning towards