om, of the open casement window, of
the sycamore outside, and the mountain forms beyond it; of this pearly
or golden light in which everything was steeped.

In the silence he heard the voice of the beck, as it hurried down the
ghyll. Twelve years since he had heard it last; and the eternal water
'at its priestlike task' still murmured with the rocks, still drank
the rain, and fed the river. No rebellion there, no failure; no
helpless will!

He tried to think of Phoebe, to remember what she had said to him. He
wondered if he had been merely brutal to her. But his heart seemed a
dry husk within him. It was, as it had been. He could neither think
nor feel.

Next day he was so ill that a doctor was sent for. He prescribed long
rest, said all excitement must be avoided, all work put away.

Four or five dreary weeks followed. Fenwick stayed in bed most of the
day, struggled down to the garden in the afternoon, was nursed by the
three women, and scarcely said a word from morning till night that
was not connected with some bodily want or discomfort. He showed no
repugnance to his wife, would let her wait upon him, and sit beside
him in the garden. But he made no spontaneous movement towards her
whatever; and the only person who evidently cheered him was Carrie.
He watched the child incessantly--in her housework, her sewing, her
gardening, her coaxing of her pale mother, her fun with Miss Anna, who
was by now her slave. There was something in the slight foreignness
of her ways and accent, in her colonial resource and independence that
delighted and amused him like a pleasant piece of acting. She had the
cottage under her thumb. By now she had cleaned all the furniture,
'coloured' most of the walls, and mended all the linen, which had been
in a sad condition--Miss Anna's powers being rather intellectual
than practical. And through it all she kept a natural daintiness and
refinement, was never clumsy, or loud, or untidy. She came and went
so lightly--and always bringing with her the impression of something
hidden and fragrant, a happiness within, that gave a dancing grace and
perfume to all her life.

To her father she chattered mostly of Canada, and he would sit in the
shade of the cottage, listening to her while she described their life;
the big, rambling farm, the children she had been brought up with,
the great lake with its ice and its storms, the apple-orchards, the
sleighing in winter, the beauty of the fall, the sple