Finally one, a little bolder than the rest, came closer to him. "The good Fraeulein," whispered the child, "she is much troubled for the Master. Why is it that he comes not to his home?" With a sigh and a smile, the Doctor went slowly up the hill to the Master's house, where Fraeulein Fredrika was waiting anxiously. "Mine brudder!" she cried; "is he ill?" "No, no, Fraeulein," answered the Doctor, reassuringly, his heart made tender by her distress. "Shall not Franz sit in my office to await the infrequent patient while I take his place with his sister? You are glad to see me, are you not, Fraeulein?" The tint of faded roses came into the Fraeulein's face. "Mine brudder's friend," she said simply, "is always most welcome." She excused herself after a few minutes and began to bustle about in the kitchen. Surely, thought the Doctor, it was pleasant to have a woman in one's house, to bring orderly comfort into one's daily living. The kettle sang cheerily and the Fraeulein hummed a little song under her breath. In the twilight, the gay colours faded into a subdued harmony. "It is all very pleasant," said the Doctor to himself, resolutely putting aside a memory of something quite different. Perhaps, as his simple friends said, the dear God knew. After tea, the Fraeulein drew her chair to the window and looked out, seemingly unconscious of his presence. "A rare woman," he told himself. "One who has the gift of silence." In the dusk, her face was almost beautiful--all the hard lines softened and made tenderly wistful. The Doctor sighed and she turned uneasily. "Mine brudder," she said, anxiously, "if something was wrong with him, you would tell me, yes?" "Of course," laughed the Doctor. "Why are you so distressed? Is it so strange for me to be here?" "No," she answered, in a low tone, "but you are mine brudder's friend." "And yours also, Fredrika. Did you never think of that?" She trembled, but did not answer, and, leaning forward, the Doctor took her hand in his. "Fredrika," he said, very gently, "you will perhaps think it is strange for me to talk in this way, but have you never thought of me as something more than a friend?" The woman was silent and bitterly ashamed, wondering when and where she had betrayed herself. "That is unfair," he continued, instantly perceiving. "I have thought of you in that way, more especially to-day." Even in the dusk, he could see the light in her eyes, and in his turn he, too, was shamed. "Dear Fraeulein Fredrika," he went on, "I have not much to offer, but all I have is yours. I am old, and the woman I loved died, never knowing that I loved her. If she had known, it would have made no difference. Perhaps you think it an empty gift, but it is my all. You, too, may have dreamed of something quite different, but in the end God knows best. Fredrika, will you come?"