After a few weeks, though entirely helpless, he was able to be dressed and lifted into a reclining rolling-chair, and when the weather permitted she wheeled him around the sunny side of the long colonnade, where he usually fell asleep. The speech arranged so carefully for the Senate committee she read again critically, made a few corrections, and forwarded it with a brief announcement of his illness to the friends who had employed Judge Kent to prepare and deliver it in committee room. Her stern self-repression discouraged conversation relative to the sufferer, and she buoyed herself with no false hopes. A ripple of compassion stirred Y----, and some who had criticized her most severely for her haughty aloofness--some whose sole grievance was her absolute devotion to an "unprincipled father"--left cards, words of sympathy, and flowers for Mrs. Herriott. Except the doctors, she saw no one but Mrs. Eggleston and Mr. Whitfield, who had lost his wife a few months previous. Bishop Vivian had died during the summer, but her father's rector came often. At times the sick man's clouded mind seemed incapable of retaining any impression, but he never failed to respond to music, and when his chair was rolled close to the piano and Eglah played selections he loved best, it comforted her to watch the pleased, contented expression of the placid, handsome old face so dear to her. Noticing how wan and drawn the girl's lips were, the physicians urged Mrs. Mitchell to persuade her to drive or walk. "No. I will not lose sight of him for a moment. He is my all, and what becomes of me makes no difference. I have but one wish now--to go with him." One bright, warm day, late in December, Judge Kent appeared surprisingly better, though his articulation continued very indistinct, and his daughter understood him best because she closely watched his lips. The doctors had made their morning visit, and, wrapped in his dressing-gown, the sick man asked to be rolled into sunshine. Eglah tucked a lap robe carefully about the reclining form, and he feebly lifted the one hand he could move, and pointed to the glass door. "That way; not through library." She unlocked and opened it, wheeling the chair out on the colonnade, and some change in his countenance arrested her attention. Bending down, she found tears on his cheeks. "You opened this door the day Herriott came. Because you heard him tell me about Keith, you married him. You burned the papers--you saved me." "No, father; no!" She fell on her knees and hid her face in his gown. "You tried to keep me from knowing you heard Herriott, but I saw you. You married him for my sake. My blessed child! When I am gone, I want you to remember no other man ever had such a daughter. My Eglah----" After a moment he sighed, and with great difficulty added slowly: "My dear, kiss me, and always--always you must know--how precious you--are, precious----"