oot. Mr. Linton picked her up bodily and carried
her, feebly protesting, into Mrs. Brown.

"Only knocked up," he said, in answer to the old woman's terrified
exclamation. "Bed is all she needs--and hot soup, if you've got it.
Norah, dear"--as she begged to be allowed to remain and help--"you can
do nothing just now, except get yourself all right. Do as I tell you,
girlie;" and in an astonishingly short space of time Norah found herself
tucked up in bed in her darkened room, with Daddy's hand fast in hers,
and a comforting feeling of everything fading away to darkness and
sleep.

It was twilight when she opened her eyes again, and Brownie sat knitting
by her side.

"Bless your dear heart," she said fervently. "Yes, the old gentleman's
come, an' he's quite comfertable in bed--though he don't know no one
yet. Dr. Anderson's gone to Cunjee, but he's coming back in his steam
engine to stay all night; an' your pa's having his dinner, which he
needs it, poor man. An' he don't want you to get up, lovey, for there
ain't nothin' you can do. I'll go and get you something to eat."

But it was Mr. Linton who came presently, bearing a tray with dainty
chicken and salad, and a glass of clear golden jelly. He sat by Norah
while she ate.

"We're pretty anxious, dear," he told her, when she had finished, and
was snugly lying down again, astonishingly glad of her soft bed. "You
won't mind my not staying. I must be near old Jim. I'll be glad when
Anderson's back. Try to go to sleep quickly." He bent to kiss her. "You
don't know what a comfort your sleep has been to me, my girlie," he
said. "Good-night!"

It was the third day of the struggle with death over the Hermit's
unconscious body, and again twilight was falling upon Billabong.

The house was hushed and silent. No footfall was allowed to sound where
the echo might penetrate to the sick-room. Near its precincts Mrs. Brown
and the Melbourne trained nurse reigned supreme, and Dr. Anderson came
and went as often as he could manage the fourteen-mile spin out from
Cunjee in his motor.

Norah had a new care--a little fragile old lady, with snowy hair, and
depths of infinite sadness in her eyes, whom Dick Stephenson called
"mother." The doctor would not allow either mother or son into the
sick-room--the shock of recognition, should the Hermit regain
consciousness suddenly, might be too much. So they waited about,
agonisingly anxious, pitifully helpless. Dick rebelled against the
id