The doctor went in, quietly moving on toward the fireplace, in which burned a cheery wood-fire. In front of it, in one of those large comfort-giving, chintz-covered, cushioned chairs, sat Miss Axtell; but the comfort of the chair was nothing to her, for she sat leaning forward, with her chin resting upon the palm of her right hand, and her eyes were gone away, were burning into the heart of the amber flame that fled into darkness up the chimney. Hers was the style of face which one might expect to find under Dead-Sea waves, if diver _could_ go down,--a face anxious to escape from Sodom, and held fast there, under heavy, heavy waters, yet still with its eyes turned toward Zoar. Now a feverous heat flushed her face, white a moment before, when we came in; but she did not turn away her eyes,--they seemed fixed, out of her control. The doctor laid his hand upon her forehead. It broke the spell that bound her gaze. She spoke quite calmly. I almost smiled to think any one could imagine danger of brain-fever from that calm creature who said,-- "Please don't give me anything, Doctor Eaton; believe me, I shall do better without." "And then we shall have you sick on our hands, Abraham and I. What should we do with you?" "I'll try not to trouble you," she said,--"but I would rather you left me to myself to-night"; but even as she spoke, a quick convulsion of muscles about her face told of pain. Doctor Eaton had not seen me, for I stood in the shadow of the bed behind him. "Who will stay with your sister tonight?" he asked Mr. Axtell. Mr. Axtell looked around at me, as if expecting that I would answer; and I presented myself for the office. "You look scarcely fit," was the village-physician's somewhat ungracious comment; and his eyes said, what his lips dared not,--"Who are you?" "I think you'll find me so, if you try me." Miss Axtell had gone away again, and neither saw nor heeded me. "Will you come below?"--and the doctor looked at me as he went out. I followed him. In the library he shut the door, sat down near the table, took from his pocket a small phial containing a light brown powder, and, dividing a piece of paper into the minute scraps needful, made a deposit in each from the phial, and then, folding over the bits of paper, handed them to me. "Are you accustomed to take care of sick persons?" he asked. "Not much; but I am a physician's daughter. I have a little experience." "Are you a visitor here?" "No,--at the parsonage." A pair of quick gray eyes danced out at me from under browy cliffs clothed with a ledge of lashes, in an actually startling manner. I didn't think the man had so much of life in him. "You're Mrs. Wilton's sister, perhaps." "I am." "Give her one of these every half-hour, till she falls asleep." "Yes, Sir." "Don't let her talk; but she won't, though. If she gets incoherent,--says wild things,--talks of what you can't understand,--send for me; I live next door." "Is this all for her?"