"So be it," was the reply. "I shall telegraph to Dr. Armand immediately to expect me, and shall say that I wish him to be prepared to come at once." "Do so, and consider no question of expense. I am no longer poor, and if I were, I would mortgage my blood at this juncture." On the following evening Dr. Armand was almost startled by the vision on the veranda of the St. John cottage. A silvery-haired woman sat looking placidly at the glowing sunset, with its light and its rose-hues reflected in her face. "If ever there was a picture of a glorified saint, there is one," he muttered, as he advanced and bowed. She gave him no attention, but with dark eyes, made brilliant by the level rays, she gazed steadily on the closing day. The physician stole a step or two nearer, and looked as steadily at her, while his experienced eye detected in all her illuminated beauty the absence of the higher, more subtle light of reason. Dr. Markham had told him next to nothing about the case, and had asked him to go and see for himself, impressing him only with the fact that it was a question of vital importance that he was to aid in deciding; that he must give it his whole professional skill, and all the necessary time, regardless of expense. The moment he saw Grace, however, the business aspect of the affair passed from his mind. His ruling passion was aroused, and he was more than physician--a student--as the great in any calling ever are. Graham came to the door and recognized instinctively the intent, eagle-eyed man, who merely nodded and motioned him to approach his patient. Graham did so, and Grace turned her eyes to him with a timid, questioning glance. He offered her his arm; she rose instantly and took it, and began walking with him. "Were you looking at the sunset, Grace?" She turned upon him the same inquiring eyes, but did not answer. "Do you not think it very beautiful? Does it not remind you of the sunset you saw on the evening when I returned from my first battle?" She shook her head, and only looked perplexed, "Why, Grace," he continued, as if provoked, "you _must_ remember. I was carried, you know, and you and Mrs. Mayburn acted as if my scratches were mortal wounds." She looked frightened at his angry tones, clasped her hands, and with tears in her eyes looked pleadingly up to him. "Dear Grace, don't be worried." He now spoke in the gentlest tones, and lifted her hand to his lips. A quick, evanescent smile illumined her face. She fawned against his shoulder a moment, placed his hand against her cheek, and then leaned upon his arm as they resumed their walk, Dr. Armand keeping near them without in the least attracting her attention. "Grace," resumed Graham, "you must remember. Hilland, Warren, you know." She dropped his arm, looked wildly around, covered her face with her hands, and shuddered convulsively. After a moment he said, kindly but firmly, "Grace, dear Grace."