rt, that now it had come to this, she would fain have
passed these last precious weeks near her young lover. But she would not
consent to give occasion to Rose, or any other person--not even to
Harry Ironside himself--to think or say that she, Annie Millar, was
already not able to live without him. Annie's wings might be clipped,
but she would be Annie proud and "plucky" to the last; and her lover,
instinctively knowing her to be true as steel, loved her the better
because of her regard for what she considered his credit as well as her
own. The pride was only skin deep; the pluck was part of the heroic
element in Annie.

Rose had been delayed in her work. She had not found it in her heart to
walk about taking sketches when the good friend who had so much to do
with the commission was little likely to see its completion. But when
Tom Robinson could sit up, walk into the next room, and go back to his
own house, she felt at liberty to set about her delightful business, in
which her father took so keen an interest. She lost no time in starting
every fine day in pursuit of the selected views, to put them on canvas
while their autumnal hues were still but tinges of red, russet, and
gold.

Rose was mostly waited on by May, who took much satisfaction in helping
to carry and set up the artist's apparatus, feeling, as she said, that
she was part of a painter when she did so.

Dora had been with Rose, May, and Tray at a pretty reach of the Dewes.
The elder sister was returning alone, along the path between the elms
by the river, near the place where Tom Robinson had come to Tray's
rescue, when she met him face to face. He was taking what
"constitutional" he was able for, and enjoying the light breeze which
was rippling the river, just as it rippled the ripe corn and fanned the
hot brows of the men who were working the corn machine in the field
beyond.

Dora had seen and spoken to him several times since his illness, but
there had been other people present, and now the old shy dread of a
_tete-a-tete_ again took possession of her. She would have contented
herself with a fluttered inquiry after his health, and a faltering
remark that she ought not to detain him. She would have hurried on,
as if the errand on which she was bound demanded the utmost speed,
supremely wretched while she did so, to notice how pale and worn he
still looked when she saw him in the broad sunshine. She would have
mourned over the circumstance that he wo