the girl.

Suddenly Fenwick put down the newspaper which Carrie had brought him.
He rose, muttered something, and went into the house. They could hear
him rummaging in his room, where Phoebe had lately unpacked some boxes
forwarded from London. He had never so far touched brush or crayon
during his stay at the cottage.

Presently he returned with a canvas and palette.

'Don't go!' he said, peremptorily, to Carrie, raising his hand. 'Stand
as you were before.'

'You don't want me?' asked Phoebe, startled, her pale cheeks suddenly
pink.

'Yes, yes, I do!' he said, impatiently. 'For God's sake, don't move,
either of you!'

He went back for an easel, then sat down and began to paint.

They held themselves as still as mice. Carrie could see her mother's
hands trembling on her lap.

Suddenly Fenwick said, in emotion:

'I don't know how it is--but I _see_ much better than I did.'

Miss Anna looked up from the low wall on which she was sitting.

'The doctor said you would, John, when you got strong,' she put in,
quickly. 'He said you'd been suffering from your eyes a long time
without knowing it. It was nerves like the rest.'

Fenwick said nothing. He went on painting, painting fast and
freely--for nearly an hour. All the time Phoebe could hardly breathe.
It was as though she felt the doors opening upon a new room in the
House of Life.

[Illustration: _Fenwick stood looking at the canvas_]

Then the artist threw his canvas on the grass, and stood looking at
it.

'By Jove!' he said, presently. 'By Jove!--that'll do.'

Phoebe said nothing. Carrie came up to him and put her hand in his
arm.

'Father, that's enough. Don't do any more.'

'All right. Take it away--and all these things.'

She lifted the sketch, the palette and brushes, and carried them into
the house.

Then Fenwick looked up irresolutely. His wife was still sitting on the
bench. She had her sewing in her hands.

'Your hair's as pretty as ever, Phoebe,' he said, in a queer voice.
Phoebe raised her deep lids slowly, and her eyes spoke for her. She
would offer herself no more--implore no more--but he knew in that
moment that she loved him more maturely, more richly, than she had
ever loved him in the old days. A shock, that was also a thrill, ran
through him. They remained thus for some seconds gazing at each other.
Then, as Carrie returned, Phoebe went into the house.

Carrie studied her father for a little, and then came to sit down on
t