She bustled about, watching him narrowly, thinking what a handsome man he was still, in spite of his probable fifty years. Then she inquired if he would not have luncheon before he went up to the sick-room. “No, I had a substantial breakfast on the train, and would like to see my sister as soon as possible,” he replied. “Oh, then you may come upstairs at once. The sight of you will be good for her old eyes.” He followed her up to the sick-room, that Rachel Dane had made as cheerful and bright as possible, and there lay poor Mrs. Flint among her pillows, wan and aged in the three years that had elapsed since last they met, but with a light of joy in her dim eyes as they rested again on his face. “My dear sister!” And he stooped and kissed her most affectionately. “How long you have been away--you and Cinthy!--and I have missed her so, dear girl, though maybe I wasn’t none too good to her when she was here, but I thought she ought to be brought up strict,” she murmured, plaintively. “It was my fault. I told you to do it,” he answered, with a sigh; and his eyes wandered around the room, noting vases of hot-house flowers and plates of fruit, purple grapes, contrasted with the delicate green of malagas, golden oranges, and crimson-cheeked apples. “You have kind neighbors,” he said. “Oh, yes; all the church people come to see me, and the preacher--though Rachel there doesn’t care about him,” reproachfully. “Mrs. Bowles, the housekeeper at Idlewild, comes often, too. She brought me the fruit and flowers from up there. Her mistress sent them--that grand Mrs. Varian, you know. I think it was kind in her after the way you treated her son.” “Yes,” and he paled to the lips under his rich brown beard. “Well, and so they are there still?” “She is. Arthur’s gone off somewhere, Mrs. Bowles said. I don’t know where.” Mr. Dawn had no idea either. His daughter had not written him of her meeting with Arthur. Presently he said, with a smile: “Rebecca, I have a bright idea. Hurry up and get strong enough to travel, and I’ll take you and Rachel South with me on a visit to Cinthia, if you would like it.” “Like it! Oh,” she cried, with sudden, pleasurable excitement, “indeed I should, Everard. It will take the rheumatism out of my old bones, the blessed sunshine of the warm South.” “Yes; all you need is a change. You are not so much sick as just pining,” commented Rachel Dane. CHAPTER XXXIII. PUPPETS OF FATE. No ordinary circumstance would have availed to keep Mrs. Varian at Idlewild after she had discovered Everard Dawn’s return to the neighborhood, but on the same day of her sudden determination to leave, fate intervened to prevent her immediate flight. Her clever, skillful maid, the faithful attendant of many years, without whom Mrs. Varian was as helpless as a child, was taken ill with a serious cold and confined to her bed for several days.