* * * * * For a short time Robert Stead seemed better, as if a load was lifted from his brain, but Dr. Russell was not deceived by it, while his heightening colour spoke of increasing fever. About two o’clock Stead asked the time, and that he might be lifted up to see the river, that, far below in the distance, flashed by between the trees. But his sight no longer carried. Presently he said, “Do you think that Brooke would come here for one single moment?—would it be too hard for her to bear?” “No; I have sent the horses for her, and she should be here at once. Yes, I see them now coming up the lower hill.” Brooke entered alone, as Dr. Russell had asked, and led by him went to the bedside, gently taking the single hand that lay upon the counterpane, the other arm being bandaged at the shoulder. She knew by Dr. Russell’s face that there was perfect mutual knowledge, and that she might be herself without fear of misunderstanding. Slipping down to her knees, to relieve the tension of stooping, neither spoke, for what is there to say when each knows the other’s grief and helplessness? Stead fastened his eyes upon her face with fading vision that still saw through and beyond. “I cannot see the River Kingdom, it has faded from me, but you have come to me from it,” he said at last. Then looking toward Dr. Russell, he added, “Open the window, please, that I may hear the rushing of the water.” “You could not hear it, there has been no rain this fall and the river is still; it is only in the spring flood that the waters rush noisily,” answered Dr. Russell, watching the man apprehensively. Again a space of silence, and Stead murmured, “What was that about still waters?—a hymn or prayer or something of the sort. I used to know it when I was a little chap—my mother taught it me!” Dr. Russell glanced at Brooke. Did she understand, and could she bear the strain and answer? Yes,—leaning forward, she repeated softly, close to his ear: “The Lord is my Shepherd; I shall not want. He maketh me to lie down in green pastures: he leadeth me beside the still waters. He restoreth my soul: he leadeth me—” Here the grasp of Stead’s hand tightened, so that she paused abruptly, and turning toward her, he cried—“Child, child! that is what you have done—you have restored my soul to me!” and answering the unconscious appeal in the pleading eyes, Brooke, without hesitation, kissed him on the lips. Then, obeying a sign from Dr. Russell, she arose and passed quickly from the room. The next day Robert Stead died, and to Brooke it seemed as if a hush must fall over all the River Kingdom,—the hawks stop sailing to and fro, the keen October wind rest from blowing, and the meadowlarks in the low fields cease their song. Yet it was not so, for this is not the law of life, which must forever be triumphant over the other law.