"Creed, I want to tell you now while I can do it that the boys is gone to get Huldy. She can take care of you after this--but I'll help. I ain't mad about it. I was aimin' to tell you that the next time she come in you should bid her stay. God knows I want ye to be happy--whether it's me or another." Bewilderment grew in the blue eyes regarding her so fixedly. "Huldah?" he repeated. And then again in a lower, musing tone, "Huldah." "Yes--yo' wife, Huldy Spiller," Judith urged mildly. "Don't you mind namin' it to me the first time she slipped in to visit you?" An abashed look succeeded the expression of bewilderment. A faint, fine flush crept on the thin, white cheek. "I--I do," Creed whispered, with a foolish little smile beginning to curve his lips; "but there wasn't a word of truth in it--dear. I've never seen the girl since she left Aunt Nancy's that Saturday morning." "What made you say it then?" breathed Judith wonderingly. "I--I don't know," faltered the sick man. "It seemed like you was mad about something; and then it seemed like Huldah was here; and then--I don't know Judith--didn't I say a heap of other foolishness?" The simple query reproved his nurse more than a set arraignment would have done. He had indeed babbled, in his semi-delirium, plenty of "other foolishness," this was the only point upon which she had been credulous. "Oh Creed--honey!" she cried, burying her face in the covers of his bed, "I'm so 'shamed. I've got such a mean, bad disposition. Nobody couldn't ever love me if they knew me right well." She felt a gentle, caressing touch on her bowed head. "Jude, darling," Creed's voice came to her, and for the first time it sounded really like his voice, "I loved you from the moment I set eyes on you. I didn't sense it for a spell, but I come to see that you were the one woman in the world for me. There never was a man done what went more against the grain than I the night I parted from you down at the railroad station and let you go back when you would have come with me--so generous--so loving--" He broke off with a choking sigh, and Judith raised her head in a sort of consternation. Were these the exciting topics that her Uncle Jep would have banished from the sick-room? she wondered. But no, Creed had never looked so nearly a well man as now. He raised himself from the pillows. "Don't!" she called sharply, as she sprang up and slipped a capable arm under his shoulders, laying his head on her breast. "You ort not to do thataway," she reproached him. "When you want anything I'll git it." "I don't want a thing, but this," whispered Creed, looking up into her eyes. "Nothing, only----"