se, as Lloyd watched, changed
position, and she could almost hear the long, deep breath that
accompanied the motion. Far off, miles upon miles, so it seemed, a
rooster was crowing at exact intervals. All at once, and close at hand,
another answered--a gay, brisk carillon that woke the echoes in an
instant. For the first time Lloyd noticed a pale, dim belt of light low
in the east.

Toward eight o'clock in the morning the doctor came to relieve her, and
while he was examining the charts and she was making her report for the
night the housekeeper announced breakfast.

"Go down to your breakfast, Miss Searight," said the doctor. "I'll stay
here the while. The housekeeper will show you to your room."

But before breakfasting Lloyd went to the room the housekeeper had set
apart for her--a different one than had been occupied by either of the
previous nurses--changed her dress, and bathed her face and hands in a
disinfecting solution. When she came out of her room the doctor met her
in the hall; his hat and stick were in his hand. "He has gone to sleep,"
he informed her, "and is resting quietly. I am going to get a mouthful
of fresh air along the road. The housekeeper is with him. If he wakes
she'll call you. I will not be gone fifteen minutes. I've not been out
of the house for five days, and there's no danger."

Breakfast had been laid in what the doctor spoke of as the glass-room.
This was an enclosed veranda, one side being of glass and opening by
French windows directly upon a little lawn that sloped away under the
apple-trees to the road. It was a charming apartment, an idea of a
sister of Dr. Pitts, who at one time had spent two years at Medford.
Lloyd breakfasted here alone, and it was here that Bennett found her.

The one public carriage of Medford, a sort of four-seated carryall, that
met all the trains at the depot, had driven to the gate at the foot of
the yard, and had pulled up, the horses reeking and blowing. Even before
it had stopped, a tall, square-shouldered man had alighted, but it was
not until he was half-way up the gravel walk that Lloyd had recognised
him. Bennett caught sight of her at the same moment, and strode swiftly
across the lawn and came into the breakfast-room by one of the open
French windows. At once the room seemed to shrink in size; his first
step upon the floor--a step that was almost a stamp, so eager it was, so
masterful and resolute--set the panes of glass jarring in their frames.