The doctor laid his hand on her shoulder gently, "I shall send for your father at once, and when he comes you must go." "Why should I?" she flashed. "He needs--" "Nothing that we cannot do!" And he listened to no argument. He scarcely allowed the professor to stay long enough to let slip from his lips the joy that brimmed his heart, but with significant look at his daughter sent them homewards at once. It was dusk then, and they went quietly both with joy in their hearts, and both with memory, likewise. The father, all the deep waters of his life stirred by the despair and the gratitude held so closely together, saw, as in a vision, the love of his life who had driven along this way so often by his side, and sent his whole heart out to the memory of her. His daughter saw first a pleading, earnest face, and then the white unconscious one; listened to earnest words, that pleaded more strongly now the speaker's lips were closed, remembered all the thoughtfulness and kindliness in which she had read only friendliness, and in which she read now deep, strong love, a love that placed her own happiness above all else. To each their vision, sweet and bitter, bitter and sweet. XXII Montague escaped the dreaded pneumonia. He rallied, at first it seemed rapidly. He begged a letter should be written home making light of all exaggerated rumors, and that he should be moved to his own home; but heavy cold and wrenched nerves and bitter memories were poor aids to health in his big empty house, where Susan stood guard over him and Bill kept watch in the kitchen. The doctor went to see him and the professor. Two weeks went by, and the doctor was first surprised and then discouraged. Driving in from one of his visits he saw the professor on the sidewalk. He drew rein. "How is Edward?" asked the professor quickly. The doctor shifted the reins he held carelessly. "So, so," he said lightly, "not so well as I thought he would be by this time; it's dull out there." The professor was listening, an anxious furrow down his forehead. "I will take him out some magazines." "Hm!" "And--what do you think he needs?" "Company, I guess. Helen"--Mrs. Randall--"wants to go out. Every time I go I have so many other visits to make I cannot manage it." "I'll take her!" eagerly interrupted the professor. "Suppose you do. Beautiful weather," the doctor wandered on aimlessly; "feels like spring." The professor listened impatiently; he was hurried, and had no time for weather comments. "There's a honeysuckle in bloom out there!" he pulled a great sprig of it carelessly out of his button-hole, "it's sweet, smell it!" The professor sniffed at it disdainfully and handed it back. He felt it a travesty that two of the busiest men in the neighborhood should be standing on the busiest street of the town, its life surging about them, talking of spring weather and honeysuckle.