d carried it to his lips; her sorrow
was very sacred to him. "For you too," he urged--"you who are so tired
and ill--let us help you all we can. Do not refuse us, Mrs. Moore; _do_
not."

The door into the next room now opened softly, and Dr. Kirby entered,
closing it behind him. "No--sit still," he said, as Mrs. Moore started
up. "There's nothing to be done for him just now; he's asleep." He
called it "sleep," to pacify her. "I came in to say," he went on--"I
knew you were here, Mr. Winthrop--that there must _not_ be so much noise
on this floor; I have no doubt the people of the house are as careful as
they can be, in fact, I know they are; but there are others here."

Winthrop turned to Penelope. "_Now_ will you consent?" he said.

(She looked at him; she was thinking only of the blessed fact that
Middleton was asleep.)

"You hear what Dr. Kirby says?--the house must be kept more quiet. I can
clear it immediately of every person in it. The noise is bad for your
husband--don't you understand? It will make a difference in his--in his
recovery."

"Oh! do anything, anything!" said the wife, wringing her hands.

He pursued his advantage. "You are willing, then, that I should do
everything possible--for his sake, you know? You consent."

"Yes, yes," she answered.

"By--all--means," said Dr. Kirby, impressively. "Consent? Of course you
consent, Penelope." He had never called her Penelope before in his life.
After that he never called her by any other name.

It seemed to Reginald Kirby a natural thing (and a small one too) that
these northerners should wish to do everything they could for the dying
hero in there; at that time the Doctor thought that the clergyman must
die.

Twelve hours later, with the exception of the proprietors and their
servants, there was no one save Mr. Moore and his friends in the river
hotel. And the house was held empty as long as he remained there. Aunt
Katrina never could find out how much those weeks cost her nephew.

But she did find out that her nephew and Margaret together had given
the Moores that "comfortable little fortune," though it was not in Mr.
Moore's hands, as she supposed; it was in Penelope's.

Penelope herself knew but little about it even now, save the fact (a
great one) that where she had once had a dollar to spend in a certain
time, she now had ten; they had lived on six hundred a year, they now
had six thousand.

Mr. Moore noticed his new luxuries; he knew that E