of snowy road into town,
after an evening at her bedside, the truth became a conviction in his
mind. His heart was too deeply concerned, and it had shattered his
nerves.

He wired to the city for a specialist before going to his home. Next
morning he told Nancy McVeigh of his action. That good old soul fell
in with the idea on the spot, and her comments caused him to turn away
his face in foolish embarrassment.

"It's what I have been expectin' ye to do all along, but I didn't care
to suggest it to ye before, as yer professional pride might not welcome
my interference. It's her poor, thin face an' her smile that kapes yer
mind from the rale doctorin'. Ye just git a smart man from the city,
an' it'll do ye both a power o' good," she said.

When he was gone Nancy went to the sick-chamber.

"Are ye able to stand good news?" she inquired.

Miss Sophia turned her face towards her, and smiled encouragingly.

"Surely, if it is really bright and hopeful," she replied, weakly.

"Ye may suppose I'm takin' liberties wi' yer privit concerns, but ye
will learn to fergive me whin ye are well an' the spring is here again
wi' its quiet sunshine, its flowers an' the grass growin' by the
roadside wi' patterns worked in dandelions like a foine carpet."

"I love the spring!" Miss Piper exclaimed, with animation.

It had seemed a wonderful thing to the doctor, the power to rouse the
suffering woman contained in the homely phrases of Nancy McVeigh.

"As if that was all to love," Nancy impatiently returned. "Did it ever
come right home to yer heart that ye loved a man an' ye didn't
recognize the feelin' fer a long time afterwards. Fer instance, one
who is makin' piles o' money out o' the ills o' others?" she added,
pausing in her dusting to gaze shrewdly at her friend.

"It's all a riddle to me," Miss Sophia answered, although her words
betrayed a rising interest.

"Aye, a foine riddle, to be sure, an' one that has its answer in the
face of Doctor Dodona."

Sophia Piper's pallid face suddenly changed color, and she frowned
irritably. Nancy sat down on the foot of the bed and took the sick
woman's hand in her own long, hardened fingers.

"Ye must get well soon, dearie; the doctor's fair beside himself
thinkin' he might lose ye, an' he can scarce compose himself long
enough to mix his own medicines. He's a lonely man; can't ye see it,
child?"

"Do you think so?" Miss Sophia whispered, wonderingly.

"It's not a matte