ead when
Mrs. Ogilvie herself brought him the message.

"This cuts him to the heart," he said; "I doubt if he will ever be the
same man again."

"Oh, Lord Grayleigh, what nonsense!" said the wife. "My dear husband
was always eccentric, but as Sibyl recovers so will he recover his
equanimity. It is a great shock to him, of course, to see her as she
is now, dear little soul. But I cannot tell you how bad I was at
first; indeed, I was in bed for nearly a week. I had a sort of nervous
attack--nervous fever, the doctor said. But I got over it. I know now
so assuredly that the darling child is getting well that I am never
unhappy about her. Philip will be just the same by-and-by."

Grayleigh made no reply. He gave Mrs. Ogilvie one of his queer
glances, turned on his heel and whistled softly to himself. He
muttered under his breath that some women were poor creatures, and he
was sorry for Ogilvie, yes, very sorry.

Grayleigh was also anxious with regard to another matter, but that
anxiety he managed so effectually to smother that he would not even
allow himself to _think_ that it had any part in Ogilvie's curious
unwillingness to see him.

At this time it is doubtful whether Ogilvie did refuse to see
Grayleigh in any way on account of the mine, for during those two days
he had eyes, ears, thoughts, and heart for no one but Sibyl. When
anyone else entered her room he invariably went out, but he quickly
returned, smiling as he did so, and generally carrying in his hand
some treasure which he had brought for her across the seas. He would
then draw his chair near the little, white bed and talk to her in
light and cheerful strains, telling her wonderful things he had seen
during his voyage, of the sunsets at sea, of a marvelous rainbow which
once spanned the sky from east to west, and of many curious mirages
which he had witnessed. He always talked to the child of nature,
knowing how she understood nature, and those things which are the
special heritage of the innocent of the earth, and she was as happy
during those two peaceful days as it was ever the lot of little mortal
to be.

But, in particular, when Mrs. Ogilvie entered the sick room did
Ogilvie go out. He had during those two days not a single word of
private talk with his wife. To Miss Winstead he was always polite and
tolerant; to nurse he was more than polite, he was kind, and to Sibyl
he was all in all, everything that father could be, everything that
love could