AFTER her fever had subsided, Grace went to sleep and carried into dream-land the disquieting conviction that she was to have a long period of illness, and be confined to her bed. Philip had given her the medicines prescribed and obtained by Caleb, for Doctor Taggess had gone far into the country and was not expected home until morning. Then Philip had lain awake far into the night, planning proper care for his precious invalid; finally he decided to get a trained nurse from New York, unless Doctor Taggess could recommend one nearer home. He would also get from the city a trained housekeeper; for, as already explained, there was no servant class at Claybanks, and of what use was "help" when the head of the house was too ill to direct the work? He would order from the city every cordial, every sick-room delicacy, that he could think of, or the Doctor might suggest. Expense was not to be thought of; there was only one woman and wife in the world--to him, and she had been cruelly struck down. She should be made well, at whatever cost. Meanwhile he would write the firm by which he had been employed in New York, and beg for his old position, for the reason that the climate of Claybanks was seriously undermining his wife's health; afterward, as soon as Grace could be moved, he would take her back to the city, and give up his Claybanks property, with its train of responsibilities, privations, and miseries. When he awoke in the morning, he slipped softly from the room, which he had darkened the night before, so that the morning light should not disturb the invalid, and he moved toward the kitchen to make a fire--a morning duty with which he had charged himself and faithfully fulfilled since his first day in his uncle's house. To be in the store by sunrise, as was the winter custom of Claybanks merchants, compelled Philip to rise before daylight, and habit, first induced by an alarm clock, had made him wake every winter day at six, while darkness was still deep. He was startled, therefore, when he tip-toed into the dining room, to be welcomed by a burst of sunlight. Evidently his wakefulness of the previous night had caused him to oversleep. Hurrying to the kitchen, he was again startled, for breakfast was cooking on the stove, and at the table, measuring some ground coffee into a pot, stood Grace, softly singing, as was her custom when she worked. "What?" he exclaimed, rubbing his eyes. "Was it I who was ill, instead of you, or have I been bereft of my senses for a fortnight or more?" "Neither, you poor, dear boy," Grace replied, though without looking up. "Yesterday I was more scared than hurt; to-day I feel as well as ever--really, I do."