"You see I am safe and well, Reuben."

"I am so thankful, Miss Faith!" And the words said not half.

The doctor had finished his m.u.f.fins and was standing before the fire again. "Have you found out yet, my man," he said in a somewhat amused voice,--"whose friend you are?"

The words jarred--and the colour on Reuben's face was of a different tint from that which had answered Faith. It was with his usual reserved manner, though nothing could be more civil, that he said, "No sir--no more than I knew before." But the respect was from Reuben as a boy to Dr. Harrison as a man. Faith's eye glanced from one to the other, and then she said, "What do you mean, Dr. Harrison?"

"Only a play of words," said the doctor lightly. "This young fellow is very cautious of making professions--as I have found."

"He has no need, sir," said Faith. She quitted as she spoke, the boy's hand which she had held until then, and came back to her seat. The words were spoken quietly enough and with as gentle a face, and yet with somewhat in the manner of both that met and fully answered all the bearing of the doctor's.

"You need not wait, Reuben," said his teacher--"I shall see you again by and by."

"Who is that?" said the doctor as Reuben went out.

"One of my body-guard," said Mr. Linden, with lips not yet at rest from their amused look.

"Are you waited upon by a Fehm-gericht? or may the members be known by the uninitiated?"

"I beg pardon!" said Mr. Linden,--"but as you seemed to know him, and as you really did know his name a week ago--That is Reuben Taylor, Dr.

Harrison."

"So do I beg pardon! His name I do know, of course--as I have had occasion; but the essence of my enquiry remains in its integrity. _Him_ I do not know. Where and to whom does he belong?"

"He is one of those of whom we spoke this morning," said Mr. Linden.

"True servant of G.o.d is his t.i.tle--to Him does Reuben belong. His home here is a little hut on the outskirts of Pattaqua.s.set, his father a poor fisherman."

There was a minute's silence, all round.

"May I ask for a little enlightening, Miss Derrick?" said the doctor.

"What do you mean, if you will be so good as to let me know,--by a person who 'does not need' to make professions."

Faith hesitated.

"Will you please say first, Dr. Harrison, just what you mean by 'professions?'" she said somewhat timidly.

"I shall shelter myself under your meaning," said he looking at her.

"Fact is, I am not good at definitions--I don't half the time know what I'm saying myself."

Faith cast an involuntary glance for help towards Mr. Linden; but getting none she came back to the doctor and the question, blushing a good deal.

"I think," she said, "professions are telling people what you wish them to believe of you."

The doctor looked comical, also threw a glance in the direction of Mr.

Linden, but put his next question seriously.

"Why do you say this Reuben Taylor does not need to make professions?

according to this definition."

"Because those who know him know what he is, without them."

"But do you mean that there is no use in making professions? How are you to know what a man is?"

"Unless he tells you?" said Faith smiling.

The doctor stood, half smiling; evidently revolving more thoughts than of one kind. With a face from which every shadow was banished he suddenly took a seat by Mrs. Derrick.

"Do you know," he said with gentle pleasantness of manner and expression, "how much better man I should be if I should come here and get only one definition a day from your little daughter?"

"What one has she given you now?" said Mrs. Derrick, whose mind evidently stood in abeyance upon this speech.

"One you didn't hear, ma'am. It was a definition of me, to myself. It isn't the first," said the doctor gravely. "Mrs. Derrick, are you friends with me?"

"As much as I ever was," said Mrs. Derrick, smilingly. "I always thought you wanted putting in order."

"How did you know that?"

"Why, because you were out of order," said Mrs. Derrick, knitting away.

The doctor uttered the lowest of whistles and looked down at his boot.

"It's because of that unlucky dog!" he muttered. "Linden--" (glancing up from under his eyebrows) "when I was a boy, I set my dog on Miss Faith's cat."

"Felt yourself called upon to uphold natural antipathies--"

"Miss Faith, have you a cat now?" said the doctor looking over to her.

"No, sir."

"And I have no dog!" said the doctor. "I have only horses. If I could manage to do without animals altogether,--Mrs. Derrick, have you forgiven me?" This last was in a changed tone.

"I don't want to talk about it, doctor," said Mrs. Derrick very soberly.

"About forgiving me?" he said as soberly.

"And I don't mean to."

"Nor I," said the doctor quietly; "but you are going to inflict more punishment on me than I deserve."

"What am I going to do?" said Mrs. Derrick. "If you know, I don't."

"Refuse to give me your hand, perhaps."

"I never did that to anybody, yet," she said pleasantly.

"Then you must let me do as we do in another country."

He bent his face to her hand as he spoke, and kissed it. There was no mockery in the action. Done by some people it would have been ridiculous. By Dr. Harrison, in the circ.u.mstances, it was in the highest degree graceful. It spoke sympathy, penitence, respect, manly confession, and submission, too simply not to be what it certainly was in some measure, a true expression of feeling. Mrs. Derrick on her part looked amused,--her old recollections of the boy constantly tinged her impressions of the man; and perhaps not without reason.