"And again, wherefore?"
"Why you know, Endy. I couldn't want you till you were ready to come."
"I should have been most emphatically ready! What sort of medical attendance have you had?"
"Good, you know. I had Dr. Harrison."
"And he did his duty faithfully?"
"I guess he always does—his medical duty," said Faith somewhat quietly.
"Duty is a sort of whole-souled thing, to my mind," said Mr. Linden.
"Do you think all his ministrations did you good?"
There was pain and wonder, and even some fear in Faith's eyes as she looked at Mr. Linden.
"They ought not to have done me any harm"—she said meekly.
"Did they, Faith? I thought—" Very softly and thoughtfully his fingers came about her hair, his eyes looking at her, Faith could hardly tell how. The pain of those weeks stung her again—the sorrow and the shame and the needlessness. Faith's head sunk again upon Mr. Linden's breast, for the tears came bitterly; though he could not know that. He only knew that they came. Holding her with a strong arm—as if against some one else; soothing her with grave kisses, not with words, Mr. Linden waited for her to speak.