It never occurred to Maddy to ask her name, she felt so stupefied and bewildered, and with a responsive kiss she sent her away. Then leaning her head upon the table, she forgot everything but her own wretchedness, and so did not see the gayly-dressed, haughty-looking lady who swept past the door, accompanied by Guy and Dr. Holbrook. Neither did she hear, or notice, if she did, the hum of their voices, as they talked together for a moment, Agnes asking the doctor very prettily to come up to Aikenside while she was there, and enliven her a little. Engaged young men like Guy were so stupid, she said, as with a merry laugh she sprang into the carriage; and, bowing gracefully to the doctor, was driven rapidly toward Aikenside. Rather slowly the doctor returned to the office, and after fidgeting for a time among the powders and phials, summoned courage to ask Madeline how she felt, and if any of the fainting symptoms had returned. “No, sir,” was all the reply she gave him, never lifting up her head, or even thinking which of the two young men it was speaking to her. There was a call just then for Dr. Holbrook; and leaving his office in charge of Tom, he went away, feeling slightly uncomfortable whenever he thought of the girl, to whom he knew that justice had not been done. “I half wish I had examined her myself,” he said. “Of course she was excited, and could not answer; beside, hanged if I don’t believe it was all humbug tormenting her with Greek and Latin and logic. Guy is such a stupid; I’ll question her myself when I get back, and if she’ll possibly pass, give her the certificate. Poor child! how white she was, and what a queer look there was in those great eyes, when she said, ‘I shall not take it.’” Never in his life before had Dr. Holbrook been as much interested in any woman who was not sick as he was in Madeline, and determining to make his call on Mrs. Briggs as brief as possible, he alighted at her gate, and knocked impatiently at her door. He found her pretty sick, while both her children needed a prescription, and he was detained so long that his heart misgave him on his homeward route, lest Maddy should be gone, and with her the chance to remedy the wrong he might have done her. Maddy was gone, and the wheel-ruts of the square-boxed wagon were fresh before the door when he came back. Grandpa Markham had returned, and Madeline, who recognized old Sorrel’s step, had gathered her shawl around her, and gone sadly out to meet him. One look at her face was sufficient. “You failed, Maddy?” the old man said, fixing about her feet the warm buffalo robe, for the night wind was blowing cool. “Yes, grandpa, I failed.” They were out of the village and more than a mile on their way home before Madeline found voice to say so much, and they were nearer home by half a mile before the old man answered back: “And, Maddy, I failed, too.” CHAPTER IV. GRANDPA MARKHAM.