The glare of a brilliant April sunset shone in the rainbow-hued western sky, and on the fresh, green earth, all arrayed in the budding promise of spring.
Grace Danton stood by the window of a long, low room, looking thoughtfully out at the orange and crimson dyes of the far-off sky.
The room in which she stood was not at all like the vast old-fashioned rooms of Danton Hall. It was long and narrow, and low-ceilinged, and very plainly furnished. There was the bed in the centre, a low, curtainless bed, and on it, pale, thin, and shadowy, lay Grace's brother, as he had lain for many weary weeks. He was asleep now, deeply, heavily, tossing no longer in the wild delirium of brain-fever, as he had tossed for so many interminable days and nights.
Grace dropped the curtain, and went back to her post by the bedside. As she did so, the door softly opened, and Kate, in a dark, unrustling dress and slippers of silence, came in. She had changed in those weeks; she looked paler and thinner, and the violet eyes had a more tender light, a sadder beauty than of old.
"Still asleep," she said, softly, looking at the bed. "Grace, I think your prayers have been heard."
"I trust so, dear. Is your father in?"
"No; he has ridden over to see how the builders get on. You must want tea, Grace. Go, I will take your place."
Grace arose and left the room, and Kate seated herself in the low chair, with eyes full of tender compassion. What a shadow he was of his former self—so pale, so thin, so wasted! The hand lying on the counterpane was almost transparent, and the forehead, streaked with damp brown hair, was like marble.
"Poor fellow!" Kate thought, pushing these stray locks softly back, and forgetting how dangerously akin pity is to love—"poor fellow!"
Yes, it has come to this. Sick—dying, perhaps—Kate Danton found how dear this once obnoxious young Doctor had grown to her heart. "How blessings brighten as they take their flight!" Now that she was on the verge of losing him forever, she discovered his value—discovered that her admiration was very like love. How could she help it? Women admire heroes so much! And was not this brave young Doctor a real hero? From first to last, had not his life in St. Croix been one list of good and generous deeds?