n a low
voice. "I never saw a Turkish rug. You often speak of things I know
nothing about."

David laughed and turned upon her happy eyes. "Why so sad for that? Did
you think I loved you and married you for your worldly knowledge?" She
smiled back at him and was silent. Presently he continued. "Now, while
Hoyle is not here, I wish to talk to you a little about him."

"Yes, David." Her heart fluttered with a nameless fear, but she betrayed
no sign of emotion.

"You've seen, of course. It's not necessary to tell you."

"No, David--only--does it mean death?" She put her hand out to him, and
he took it in his and stroked it.

"Not surely. We'll make a fight for him, won't we, dear?"

"Oh, David! What can we do?" she moaned.

"There's a thing to do that I've been reserving as a last resort. I
think the time has come to try it. This curvature presses on some vital
part, and the action of his heart is uncertain. He needs the tonic of
the cold,--the ice and snow. Would you trust him to me, dear? I'll take
him to Doctor Hoyle. You know very well everything kindness and skill
can do will be done for him there."

"Yes, yes, David. You are so good to him always! Would--would you
go--alone with him?" She drew closer to him, her head on his shoulder
and her hand in his, but he could not see her face.

"You mean without you, dearest?"

"Yes."

"That may be as you say. Would you prefer to go with us?"

She drew a long breath, slowly, like an indrawn sigh, and something
trembled to pass her heart, but suddenly the old habit of reserve sealed
her lips and she remained silent.

"What do you say?" he urged.

"Tell me first--do you want me to go?"

He was silent, and they sat waiting for each other. Then he said, "I do
want you to go--and yet I don't want you to go--yet. Sometime, of
course, we must go where I may find wider scope for my activities." He
felt her quiver of anxiety. "Not until you are quite ready yourself,
dear, always remember that." Still she was silent, and he continued: "I
can't say that I'm quite ready myself. I would prefer one more year
here, but Hoyle must be removed without delay. We may have waited too
long as it is. Will your mother consent? She must, if she cares to see
him live."

"Oh, David! Go, go. Take him and go to-morrow. Leave me here and
go--but--come back to me, David, soon--very soon. I--I shall need you,
I-- Can you leave Hoyle there and come back, David? Or must you bide
there, to