"I brought some birds home with me that I believe I can answer for. Try to demolish the pinion of one of them--will you? It is a duty you owe to society."

"I will try,"--she said gravely.

The doctor wondered whether she had laid up against him any of his former conversation.

"What do you think," he said with a kind of gentle insinuation,--"of that argument I ventured to advance the other day, on the matter we were speaking of?"

"I don't like to think of it at all, Dr. Harrison."

"May I know why not?"

"Because I know it is false, and yet I cannot make you see it."

"Can you make yourself see it?"

"I don't need to take any pains for that. I see it very well."

"Perhaps you will find the way to make me see it," said the doctor pleasantly.

"That would be easy," said Faith, "if--"

"If what? May I not know the difficulty?"

"If you really cared about it."

"I do care about it. You mistake me when you think that. But you must not think about anything now. Did you know I carried off your rosebud the other night?"

"Yes."

It was impossible to tell from the doctor's accent how _he_ viewed the transaction, and equally impossible from Faith's answer to tell what she thought of it. Extremes meet--as Mr. Linden had once remarked.

"I'll endeavour to atone for that presumption to-morrow," said he rising, for Mrs. Derrick now entered the room. To her Dr. Harrison repeated his orders and counsels, and to Faith's relief took himself away. Her mother came up to the easy-chair with a smothered sigh on her lips, and laid her gentle hand on Faith's forehead and wrist.

"Child," she said, "has that man talked you into a fever again? I've a great mind not to let him come any more--I guess I could cure you better myself. If you'd send word to somebody else, Faith, we'd have you well in no time."

"I haven't heard from him to-night, mother." Faith felt the little start of her mother's hand.

"Maybe he's coming then," said Mrs. Derrick,--"he might have meant to come yesterday and been hindered." Faith did not think that.

"We shall know," she said to her mother. "We have only to wait and be quiet." And she carried out both parts of her stated duty to perfection.

There is a strange sort of strength in a certain degree of weakness--or it may be that weakness runs sooner to its refuge, while strength stands outside to do battle with the evil felt or feared. Faith's gentle and firm temper was never apt for struggling, with either pain or fear; it would stand, or yield, as the case called for; and now, whether that her mind had been living in such a peaceful and loving atmosphere, both earthly and heavenly, that it could settle upon none but peaceful views of things, or that bodily weakness made her unable to bear any other, she did mount upon one of those "ladders" and left her burden on the ground. She thought she did. She was as quiet outwardly as before; she told Mrs. Derrick, who looked at her in misery,--and told her with a steady cheerful little smile, that "she dared say the letter would come to-morrow." But it is true that Faith had no power to eat that night nor the next day; and that she did not know the hidden slow fever--not of disease--which was running through all her veins and making the other fever do its work again, bright in her cheek and eye and beating at her temples and wrist. But she was as still and quiet through it all--quiet in voice and brow--as if letters had been full and plenty.

CHAPTER XXIII.

It was about midday of Sat.u.r.day, when Reuben Taylor, proceeding up the main street of Pattaqua.s.set on some business errand for his father, was joined by Phil Davids--no wonted or favourite a.s.sociate or companion.

But Phil now walked up the street alongside of the basket which had come "into town" with fish.

"I say, Reuben," said Phil after some unimportant remarks had been made and answered,--"does Mr. Linden ever write to you?"

Reuben started--as if that touched some under current of his thoughts, and answered "yes."

"I wish he'd write to me," said Phil. "I know I'd like it. I say, Taylor, what does he send you such thick letters about?"

"Such thick letters!" Reuben repeated, with a quick look at his companion. "People put a great many things in a letter, Phil."

"I guess likely. That's what I say. What does he write to you about?"

"Maybe I'll bring up one of 'em for you to read," said Reuben. "You've heard him talk, Phil--he writes just so."

"Does he? I guess you wouldn't like to miss one of his letters then, Reuben,--would you?"

"No."

"I s'pose it would be a worse job yet to miss two of 'em--wouldn't it?"

said Phil with a perfectly grave face.

"Phil Davids!" Reuben exclaimed, facing round upon him, with such a flash of joy and hope and surprise and eagerness, as made Phil wonder.

"What do you mean?" he added checking himself. "Just turn your pockets inside out, Phil, before we go any further."

"When were you at the post-office?"

"Last night--and this morning." Reuben forced himself to be quiet.

"Well look here,--when you go there, don't you ask for letters?"

"Ask!--I've asked till they were all out of patience."

"Suppose you come to the right shop next time!" said Phil, importantly producing the missing papers.

"Phil! Phil!--" was all Reuben said. He caught the letters--and stood looking at them with a face that made Phil look. "Mr. Linden will love you all his life for this. But how in the world did you get them?"

"That's exactly what I'd like somebody to tell me!" said Phil. "I know who put the monkey's paw in the fire--but how the chestnuts got there, I'm beat!"

"What do you know?" said Reuben,--"where did you get these? Oh Phil! I never can thank you enough!"

"It was because they were _his_ letters I did it," said Phil bluntly.

"I wasn't going to let Mintie Tuck have 'em. But I say, Reuben! what have you done to spite her? or has she a spite against Mr. Linden? or who has she a spite against?"

"I don't know. Did _she_ give 'em to you, Phil?"

"Not by a precious sight nor to anybody else. Dromy saw 'em in her drawer, and for all the gumph he is, he knew the writing; and I made him get 'em for me this morning while they were at breakfast. Now Taylor," said Phil settling his hands further down in his pockets as they rapidly walked along,--"what bird's on _that_ nest?"

Reuben listened--with an intentness that spoke of more than wonder. "In her _drawer?_" he repeated,--"what, down in the office?"