atch after things--this whole place is
sick, as much as the owner of it. I reckon you've got to help me,
my dear."

She looked at him, her large, dark eyes slightly contracting,
making neither protest nor assent. He drew a long breath of
satisfaction.

"Of course you'll stay," he said; "it's the right thing to do, and
we both know it. You don't want to kill a man, no matter how much
he desires or deserves it. Doctors and women--they sometimes are
fatal, but they don't consciously mean to be, now do they? We
don't ask many questions out here in these hills, and I will never
bother you, I feel entirely free to ask you to remain at least for
a few days--or maybe weeks."

[Illustration: Doctors and women--they sometimes are fatal.]

Her eyes still were on his face. It was a face fit for trust.
"Very well," said she at length, quietly. "If you think it is
necessary."

It was thus that Josephine St. Auban became the head of Tallwoods
household. Not that week did she leave, nor the next, nor the one
thereafter. The winter advanced, it was about to wane, and still
she remained. Slowly, the master advanced toward recovery.
Meantime, under charge of the mistress, the household machine fell
once more into proper ways. The servants learned obedience. The
plans for the work of the spring somehow went on much as formerly.
Everywhere there became manifest the presence of a quiet, strong,
restraining and self-restrained influence.

In time the doctor became lighter in his speech, less frequent in
his visits. "You're not going to lose that musical leg, Dunwody,"
said he. "Old Ma Nature beats all us surgeons. In time she'll
fill you in a nice new bone along there maybe, and if you're
careful you'll have two feet for quite a while yet to come. You've
ruined old Eleazar's fiddle, though, taking that E string! Did I
ever tell you all about that coon dog of mine I had, once?"

Dunwody at last reached the point of his recovery where he could
grin at these remarks; but if anything, he had grown more grim and
silent than before. Once in a while his eyes would linger on the
face of Josephine. Little speech of any kind passed between them.
There were no callers at Tallwoods, no news came, and apparently
none went out from that place. It might have been a fortress, an
island, a hospital, a prison, all in one.

At length Dunwody was able safely to leave his room and to take up
a resting place occasionally in the larg