vident that he was too feeble to face an ordinary meal. He lay
back in Miss Anna's armchair with closed eyes, and took no notice
of Phoebe's timid summons. The women looked in upon him, alarmed and
whispering together. Then Miss Anna drew Phoebe away, and mixing some
milk and brandy sent Carrie in with it. 'He will go away to-morrow!'
she said, in Phoebe's ear, referring to a muttered saying of the
patient,--'we shall see!'

As Carrie entered the parlour with the milk and brandy, Fenwick looked
up.

'Where am I to sleep?' he asked her, abruptly, his eyes lingering on
her.

'In my room,' she said, softly; 'I'm going in to Miss Anna. I've
lengthened the bed!'

A faint smile flickered over his face.

'How did you do that?'

'I nailed on a packing-case. Isn't it queer?--Miss Anna hadn't any
tools. I had to borrow some at the farm--and they were the poorest
scratch lot you ever saw. Why, everybody in Canada has tools.'

He held her with a shaking hand, still looking intently at her bright
face.

'Did you like Canada?'

She smiled.

'Why, it's _lovely_!'

Then her lips parted eagerly. She would have liked to go on talking,
to make acquaintance. But she refrained. This man--this strange new
father--was 'sick'--and must be kept quiet.

'Will you help me up to bed?' he murmured--as she was just going away.

She obeyed, and he leant on her shoulder as they mounted the steep
cottage stair. Her physical strength astonished him--the amount of
support that this child of seventeen was able to give him.

She led him into his room, where she had already brought his bag, and
unpacked his things.

'Is it all right, father? Do you want anything else? Shall I send
mother?'

'No, no,' he said, hastily--'I'm all right. Tell them I'm all right; I
only want to go to sleep.'

She turned at the door, and looked at him wistfully.

'I did make that mattress over--part of it. But it's a real bad one.'

He nodded, and she went.

'A dream!' he said to himself--'_a dream_!'

He was thinking of the child as she stood bathed in the mingled glory
of sunset and moonlight flowing in upon her from the open window; for
the long day of northern summer was still lingering in the valley.

'Ah! if I could only _paint_!--oh, God, if I could _paint_!' he
groaned aloud, rubbing his hands together in a fever of impotence and
misery.

Then he tumbled into bed, and lay there weak and passive, feeling the
strangeness of the remembered ro