no less frank: you could not have said where the change was; but it was
there, and he felt it. He ought to have understood it and taken heart.
But he was ignorant like Hetty, only felt the disturbance, and taking
counsel of his fears believed that things were going wrong. Sometimes
he would stay away for many days, and then watch closely Hetty's
manner when they met. Never a trace of resentment or even wonder at
his absence. Sometimes he would go there daily for an interval; never
a trace of expectation or of added familiarity. But now things were
changed. Little Raby's illness seemed to put them all back where they
were during the days of the sea-side idyl. Now the doctor felt himself
again needed. Both Hetty and Sally lived upon his words, even his looks.
Again and again the child's life seemed hanging in even balances, and
it was with a gratitude almost like that they felt to God that the two
women blessed Dr. Eben for his recovery. Night after night, the three,
watched by the baby's bed, listening to his shrill and convulsive
breathings.

Morning after morning, Dr. Eben and Hetty went together out of the
chamber, and stood in the open door-way, watching the crimson dawn on
the eastern hills. At such times, the doctor felt so near Hetty that
he was repeatedly on the point of saying again the words of love he had
spoken six months before. But a great fear deterred him.

"If she refuses me once more, that would settle it for ever," he said to
himself, and forced the words back.

One morning after a night of great anxiety and fear, they left Sally's
room while it was yet dark. It was bitterly cold; the winter stars shone
keen and glittering in the bleak sky. Hetty threw on a heavy cloak, and
opening the hall-door, said:

"Let us go out into the cold air; it will do us good."

Silently they walked up and down the piazza. The great pines were
weighed down to the ground by masses of snow. Now and then, when the
wind stirred the upper branches, avalanches slid noiselessly off, and
built themselves again into banks below. There was no moon, but the
starlight was so brilliant that the snow crystals glistened in it. As
they looked at the sky, a star suddenly fell. It moved very slowly, and
was more than a minute in full sight.

"One light-house less," said Dr. Eben.

"Oh," exclaimed Hetty, "what a lovely idea! who said that? Who called
the stars lighthouses?"

"I forget," said the doctor; "in fact I think I never knew