me--how much longer do you suppose I can wait for that?"

He had no longer to wait at that time, and the touch of her lips was
with a tremulous gladness which was tale-telling. And then the position
of the lowered head and the hand which kept its place on his shoulder
shewed him that she was clinging, though with shy eagerness, like a
bird that with tired wing has found her nest. With one of those quick
impulses which to-day seemed to have taken the place of his usual
steadiness, Mr. Linden bent down and blessed her; in words such as she
never remembered from other lips. Not many indeed, but deep and
strong,--as the very depth and strength of his own human and religious
nature; words that stilled Faith's heart as with the shadowing of
peace; so that for the time she could not wonder, but only rest. They
made her tremble a moment; then she rested as if the words had been a
spell. But the rest wrought action. Faith drew back presently and
looked up at Mr. Linden to see how he looked. And then she could not
tell. Her puzzled eyes found nothing to remark upon.

"Endy--I thought you would not be here for two or three days yet."

"It was nearly impossible. My child, when did you get sick?"

"O--a good while ago."

"'A good while,'"--Mr. Linden repeated with grave emphasis. "Well do
you think it would have lengthened the time to have me come and see
you?"

Faith's heart was too full, and her answer, looking down, was a
tremulous, quiet and tender,

"I don't think it would."

"Then wherefore was I not permitted?"

"I didn't want you to come then."

"And again, wherefore?"

"Why you know, Endy. I couldn't want you till you were ready to come."

"I should have been most emphatically ready! What sort of medical
attendance have you had?"

"Good, you know. I had Dr. Harrison."

"And he did his duty faithfully?"

"I guess he always does--his medical duty," said Faith somewhat quietly.

"Duty is a sort of whole-souled thing, to my mind," said Mr. Linden.
"Do you think all his ministrations did you good?"

There was pain and wonder, and even some fear in Faith's eyes as she
looked at Mr. Linden.

"They ought not to have done me any harm"--she said meekly.

"_Did_ they, Faith? I thought--" Very softly and thoughtfully his
fingers came about her hair, his eyes looking at her, Faith could
hardly tell how. The pain of those weeks stung her again--the sorrow
and the shame and the needlessness. Faith's head sunk agai