Lawrence had leaned his elbows on his knees and covered his face with his hands. He was not thinking; he was not even feeling. A dull sensation of sinking down--down, he knew not where, was all that he was conscious of. Then some keen stab, as if from a hot knife, went through him. He started up, turning his face towards Carolyn. He flung out his hands as if he were groping blindly. "Oh, Caro, my love!" he cried, not knowing what he said. Then he fell forward on the ground at her feet. The climax of illness and anxiety and unhappiness seemed to have been reached. The inanimate body was taken to the room which had always been Lawrence's, and put upon his old bed. Then followed days and weeks of illness, during which the man was sometimes delirious, sometimes lying in a stupor. A nurse and Mrs. Ffolliott and Carolyn watched over him. At last, when summer had waned towards its end, and there were already hints of the autumn glories, Lawrence opened his eyes and saw Mrs. Ffolliott sitting by him. "Is it a good while?" he asked, feebly. She bent over him. "A few weeks." "And Lee?" "He's all right. Don't talk." "No. I can't." Then, in a moment, "Aunt Tishy, I'm going to die, and I'm glad of it." "No, no!" "Yes, I am. And I want you to tell Caro that I love her,--love her--" He closed his eyes; he spoke dreamily, then was silent. But he did not die. He began to gain steadily, and he often remarked that it was a great mistake; then was the time for him to die. Carolyn came no more to his room. Sometimes he heard her voice when a door opened, or he could hear her singing far off somewhere. Frequently the crow was allowed to come to the chamber, where he would gravely amuse himself by hopping over the floor, occasionally picking at something; or he would sit on the top of a chair and look at the man on the bed. At last Lawrence could go down-stairs and sit in the sun on the lawn, the shadow of a man, his long, bony frame stretched out, his gaunt face and great eyes turned towards the shining blue water. Every day he told himself that perhaps the next day he could go away. He was longing to work; he felt the springs of life and strength slowly rising within him. Happiness was not for him, but there was work. One day Mrs. Ffolliott came across the grass and sat down beside him. Indeed, she often did this, but he thought there was something special in her manner just now. "You're getting very much stronger and better, aren't you, Rodney?" she asked. "Oh, yes; I shall soon be all right," was the reply. "And I shall go away as soon as I can. How good you've been to me!" "Don't mention such a thing. Rodney--" The speaker paused. She looked uneasily about her. "Caro says it's time you were told," she went on, and then stopped again. Lawrence sat up erect. He began to brace himself for he knew not what. "You might hear it from some one else, now--" "Hear what?" in an imperative voice.