The girl shrugged her shoulders. "He is a dog," she said, quietly enough, though a bitterness colored her voice like rust. "He is mad, too--but only with the madness of a dog." "You're not very cheerful today," said Andrew, with invalid peevishness, "And where you ever got such a farrago of nonsense--God knows I hate Cave as much as any of you can--but you make everything sound cruel." She shrugged again. "What do you want me to say?" she said, with that even bitterness. "Life is cruel. Men that are cruel do no more than copy life." "Don't," said Andrew, wincing, "I'm sorry you're so unhappy. You oughtn't to be so unhappy if you're Sebastian's sweetheart." "So I am Sebastian's sweetheart?" said the girl and smiled. "Well--aren't you?" "Am I? I don't know. How do you know? You are a boy, sometimes--a little, little boy. You must take your medicine." "I don't want it," complained Andrew, childishly, "You just gave it to me, anyhow." "You must take it often." She approached him with the cup. "It takes away the fever. See, you are much cooler, this afternoon." She laid a hand on his forehead--the light touch was cool and firm as if she had brushed his brow with a ringdove's feather, fallen upon cool stones. "There now. Go to sleep. Sleep mends the fever, too." "Why do you say such things about Dr. Gentian?" said Andrew, impatiently, but she turned away with her finger on her lips and sat down again in her chair. He watched her through half-closed eyes, seeing again the dark Madonna in the niche of the Spanish church, A single lamp burned before it--the face was calm and secret--the face of a gypsy saint--a mystery hung above it like a dove in chains. He could feel the touch of fingers upon his brow, cool as the roots of lilies, bathed in water from the hills. He lay for a long time silent, half-drowsing, thinking of Dr. Gentian in a gold cap and a lamp before an image, and the roots of lilies steeped in a clear, cold stream. Next morning the fever had gone; his body felt weak, but no longer possessed. He lay alone all morning feeling his strength return to him and listening with mild curiosity to the various noises of the house. The day was hot and sultry, he could feel that inside his skin, but his room was cool and he did not mind. He had a convalescent's desire for visitors and talk, but the only person he saw till noon was the body-servant who brought his breakfast, and the boy slipped away before he could question him much.