er about her business."

Austen smiled. It was the first sign, since his return the night before,
Euphrasia had given that an affection for Hilary Vane lurked beneath the
nature.

"She won't stay long, Phrasie," he answered, and added mischievously,
"for a very good reason."

"And what's that?" asked Euphrasia.

"Because you won't allow her to. I have a notion that she'll pack up and
leave in about three days, and that all the doctors in Ripton couldn't
keep her here."

"Get along with you," said Euphrasia, who could not for the life of her
help looking a little pleased.

"I'm going off for a few hours," he said more seriously. "Dr. Tredway
tells me they do not look for any developments--for the worse."

"Where are you going?" asked Euphrasia, sharply.

"To Fairview," he said.

Euphrasia moved the kettle to another part of the stove.

"You'll see her?" she said.

"Who?" Austen asked. But his voice must have betrayed him a little, for
Euphrasia turned and seized him by the elbows and looked up into his
face.

"Victoria," she said.

He felt himself tremble at the name,--at the strangeness of its sound on
Euphrasia's lips.

"I do not expect to see Miss Flint," he answered, controlling himself as
well as he was able. "I have an errand for the Judge with Mr. Flint
himself."

Euphrasia had guessed his secret! But how?

"Hadn't you better see her?" said Euphrasia, in a curious monotone.

"But I have no errand with her," he objected, mystified yet excited by
Euphrasia's manner.

"She fetched Hilary home," said Euphrasia.

"Yes."

She couldn't have be'n kinder if she was his own daughter."

"I know--" he began, but Euphrasia interrupted.

"She sent that Englishman for the doctor, and waited to take the news to
her father, and she came out in this kitchen and talked to me."

Austen started. Euphrasia was not looking at him now, and suddenly she
dropped his arms and went to the window overlooking the garden.

"She wouldn't go in the parlour, but come right out here in her fine
clothes. I told her I didn't think she belonged in a kitchen--but I guess
I did her an injustice," said Euphrasia, slowly.

"I think you did," he said, and wondered.

"She looked at that garden," Euphrasia went on, "and cried out. I didn't
callate she was like that. And the first thing I knew I was talking about
your mother, and I'd forgot who I was talking to. She wahn't like a
stranger--it was just as if I'd known her alw