* * * * * It was well that she hurried home swiftly, for an enemy more fearful than minie balls had attacked her. Ere she left the city by the sea, her lips were parched, and her tongue in the glass looked like brick dust. Feverish and dizzy, she left the little train at the Dunvegan station and tried to make her way as best she could through the village. None knew she was coming, and none met her. Some girls saw her in the distance and wondered if that reeling figure could be Helen Preston returned to Dunvegan. Out and over the old road she struggled until the long hill must be climbed that led up to Sunahlee. She remembered vaguely how, in her childhood days, she used to run up its steepness with Ervin—she would be brave and try it now. At the first step, she stumbled and fell in the rhododendron bushes by the wayside. “O God—” she murmured, “I think I—am—going—to—faint—. Keep—Ervin—well—for Jesus’—” Uncle Ben had seen her fall, and found her there unconscious. Faithful in all things, he bore her to the great house, his dogs pulling loyally at their traces. The physician came in due time, and looked grave. Doctor Allerton was there also. When he saw Doctor McIntyre’s lips quiver he went to the window and looked out past the ivy-covered cabin, past the blue-peaked Wahaws, past the gate of Heaven. Each day found the blazing fever stronger and its victim weaker. One day she begged piteously for water, and whispered, excitedly: “He loves me; he told me he loved no one else! He is coming back—” The delirium that had once befriended had now come to murder. When another week had passed, the Death-wind blew softly. From the tomb of Tawiskara he came, and each violet in the Silver Creek Valley knelt humbly before him. The honeysuckle nodded reverently as he passed, and the soughing pine murmured a requiem. He stopped at the wistaria that clung round the porch and trembled at his touch, and then passed onward through the open window, and played with the fair curls he had come to claim. She seemed to hear his call and to follow. Down the great, wide steps she went, in a snowy gown with sprays of gentian that made it all the whiter, down through the door to welcome him, and on out into the moonlight. By the wistaria she stood and smiled at him. He looked down into her face, and his words were sweet. How love had witched his features in answer to a woman’s prayer! He reached forth his hands to her, and his summons seemed compelling. With lissome grace she moved toward his arms. His hand touched her breast, his dark eyes enraptured her, the burning passion of his soul thrilled each cord of her responsive heart into ecstasy. Then the watchers at the bedside, who did not know that she had gone down to meet her lover again under the moonlit wistaria, saw the smile on her face, watched the pale lips purse winsomely and heard her whisper softly: “Dare you!” CHAPTER XLIV