"You have not offended me," she said quietly.
"Hurt you then, which is worse."
"How should I have got through," she said, as if to herself, and dropped her hands with her work on her knees, "if I had not believed there was One caring for me all the time, even when I was most alone!"
"Do you never lose that faith?" asked the doctor.
"Yes; many and many a time. But it always comes back."
"Comes and goes with your health."
"No—is strongest sometimes when I am furthest from well."
"When you are most feverish," said the doctor. "What a fool I am to go on contradicting her!" he added to himself.
"I think I know you better than you imagine, Mr. Faber," said Miss Meredith, after just a moment's pause. "You are one of those men who like to represent themselves worse than they are. I at least am bound to think better of you than you would have me. One who lives as you do for other people, can not be so far from the truth as your words."
Faber honestly repudiated the praise, for he felt it more than he deserved. He did try to do well by his neighbor, but was aware of no such devotion as it implied. Of late he had found his work bore him not a little—especially when riding away from Owlkirk. The praise, notwithstanding, sounded sweet from her lips, was sweeter still from her eyes, and from the warmer white of her cheek, which had begun to resume its soft roundness.