I clenched one hand savagely, for in
the grim uphill battle I had nearly forgotten Aline. It was so long since
I had seen her, and when each day's hard work was done we were almost too
tired to think. Still, my brow was crimson with shame when I remembered
that my sister went, it might be, scantily fed, while what plans I made
were all for my own future and Grace.

"That is my part," I answered hotly. "She should have written frankly to
her brother."

Alice stopped me. "You do not understand women, Ralph, and she knew that
you too were struggling. Neither do I see how you can help her now, and it
would be a favor to me. It is beyond the power of any vigorous man with a
task for every moment to realize what it means to sit still weak and
helpless and know that even wealth cannot bring respite from constant
pain. Active pleasure, work and health have been denied me by fate, and my
life cannot be a long one. It may be very short, though your uncle will
not allow himself to believe it, and I long to do a little good while I
can. Ralph, won't you help me?"

With a shock, I realized that she spoke only the plain truth. Indeed, her
thin eager face contracted then, and ever afterward I was glad that moved
by some impulse I stooped and reverently kissed the fragile hand.

"You were always somebody's good angel, cousin," I said; "but I am her
brother, and this time I can help. I am going back to the farm at
Fairmead, and, if she is longing for open air, do you think she would come
and keep house for me?"

Alice blushed as she drew away the white fingers, but she showed her
practical bent by a cross-examination, and eventually she agreed that
though there were objections the plan might be feasible.

"You write to her by the next mail," she said, "and I will write too--no,
it would be better if I waited a little. Why? You must trust my
discretion--even your great mind cannot grasp everything. Now I want you
to tell me all about Miss Carrington."

Alice had a way with her that unlocked the secrets of many hearts, and the
shadows had lengthened across the lawn before the narrative was finished.
I can still picture her lying back on the lounge with hands clasped before
her, a line of pain on her brow, and the humming birds flashing athwart
the blossoms of the arrowhead that drooped above her. Then, glancing
straight before her toward the ethereal snows, she said with a sigh:

"I can see trouble in store for both of you, but I