After a few questions about his journey, Miss Anna quietly begged him to come in and rest. He hesitated a moment, then with his hands in his pockets followed her to the parlour; while Phoebe, with Carrie's arm round her, went falteringly upstairs.
Miss Anna made no scene and asked for no information. She and Carrie bustled to and fro, preparing supper. Fenwick at his own request remained alone in the parlour. But when supper-time came, it was evident that he was too feeble to face an ordinary meal. He lay back in Miss Anna's armchair with closed eyes, and took no notice of Phoebe's timid summons. The women looked in upon him, alarmed and whispering together. Then Miss Anna drew Phoebe away, and mixing some milk and brandy sent Carrie in with it. 'He will go away to-morrow!' she said, in Phoebe's ear, referring to a muttered saying of the patient,—'we shall see!'
As Carrie entered the parlour with the milk and brandy, Fenwick looked up.
'Where am I to sleep?' he asked her, abruptly, his eyes lingering on her.
'In my room,' she said, softly; 'I'm going in to Miss Anna. I've lengthened the bed!'
A faint smile flickered over his face.
'How did you do that?'
'I nailed on a packing-case. Isn't it queer?—Miss Anna hadn't any tools. I had to borrow some at the farm—and they were the poorest scratch lot you ever saw. Why, everybody in Canada has tools.'
He held her with a shaking hand, still looking intently at her bright face.
'Did you like Canada?'