After he had gone we left Aline alone, as she asked us. She wanted to gain composure before she went back to Pierce. In her little octagon room, holy with the atmosphere of her prayers and long patience, we left her to gain courage and comfort from the Source. Our hearts were heavy for her, but we knew her Comforter would not fail. Meanwhile I went back to Pierce with a foot that lagged and a face that vainly strove for a show of cheerfulness. It was June then, and Pierce was out every day, sitting in a comfortable wicker-chair under the shade of limes. He certainly looked less ill than when he had come home, but that might be because he was rested and refreshed now, and his mind at ease to be among his own people. I sat down on the rug at his feet, being glad not to meet his eyes, but he leant forward and pulled my face round towards him. As he did so I lost my hard-won composure. "What, tears!" he said, and smiled. He was the only one of us had heart to smile that day. "The doctor's been telling you that I've got my marching orders?" he said. I bowed my head silently. "I wish you could come over here and stand beside me"--he spoke as if an immense gulf divided us,--"and see from my side how death looks. There would be nothing to cry about, little Hilda." I answered by a half-stifled sob. "My only trouble is," he said, "that I cause you all sorrow. I meant to have done so much for this old place and all of you once, and I have done nothing but drag myself home to be a burden on you all, and then to grieve you by my death. And yet if you could know, little Hilda, how impossible it was for me to take up life again in the old way, you would understand how glad I am to go." Still I could not answer him. He spoke again with a curious strength and will that for the moment made his voice like the voice of one in health. "There must be no more doctors, Hilda. Even if it comforts Aline I cannot have it. You must let me go quietly. God knows that in being here I have more happiness than I deserve." I followed his eyes as they gazed around. The great lime was flinging wavering shadows on the grass. The sun was very hot, but under the shelter of the tree a cool wind had strayed in, and flapped about with half-folded wings. And facing Pierce as he sat was Brandon, blue as forget-me-nots. A day or two later we had accepted with what resignation we might the knowledge that Pierce's time with us was to be but short. It is wonderful how one grows used to such things. Troubles that, imagined, we would have said we could not endure, we accept in a few hours, and go about, not only living, but carrying out the usual routine of life, as if the thing had always been so.