The slow, slow hours dragged away, and morning came. It found the
patient worse, weak, prostrated, and deadly sick, but not delirious.

"I know I have the fever, Kate," he said, in a weak whisper; "I am glad
of it. I only hope it will be merciful, and take me off."

Kate went down to breakfast, which she could not eat, and then returned
to the sick-room. Her experience among the sick of the village had made
her skilful in the disease; but, despite all she could do, Harry grew
weaker and worse. She dared not summon help, she dared not call in the
Doctor, until her father's return.

"He ought to be here to-day," she thought. "Heaven grant it! If he does
not and Harry keeps growing worse, I will go and speak to Father Francis
this evening."

Fortunately this unpleasant duty was not necessary. The late afternoon
train brought the newly-wedded pair home. Kate and Eeny met them in the
hall, the latter kissing both with effusion, and Kate only shaking
hands, with a pale and anxious countenance.

Mrs. Grace went upstairs with Eeny, to change her travelling costume,
and Captain Danton was left standing in the hall with his eldest
daughter.

"What is it, my dear?" he asked; "what has gone wrong?"

"Something very serious, I am afraid, papa. Harry is ill."

"Ill! How?--when?--what is the matter with him?"

"The fever," Kate said, in a whisper. "No one in the house knows it yet
but Ogden. He was taken ill night before last, but I knew nothing of it
till yesterday. I sat up with him last night, and did what I could, but
I fear he is getting worse. I wanted to call in the Doctor, but I dared
not until your return. What shall we do?"

"Send for Doctor Frank immediately," replied her father, promptly; "I
have no fear of trusting him. He is the soul of honour, and poor Harry's
secret is as safe with him as with ourselves. Grace has heard the story.
I told her in Montreal. Of course, I could have no secrets from my wife.
I will go to the village myself, and at once; that is, as soon as I have
seen the poor boy. Let us go up now, my dear."

Kate followed her father upstairs, and into the sick man's room. With
the approach of night he had grown worse, and was slightly delirious. He
did not know his father when he bent over and spoke to him. He was
tossing restlessly on his pillow, and muttering incoherently as he
tossed.

"My poor boy! My poor Harry!" his father said, with tears in his-eyes.
"Misfortune seems to have marke