He remembered his own reluctant assent, impelled by gratitude to the doctor and the helplessness of a sick man. He now recalled the weary journey thither, his exhaustion and the semi-consciousness of his arrival in a bewildering wind on a shadowy hilltop. And this was the place! He shivered slightly, and ducked his head under the cover again. But the brightness of the sun and some exhilarating quality in the air tempted him to have another outlook, avoiding as far as possible the grimly decorated walls. If they had only left him his faithful servant he could have relieved himself of that mischievous badinage which always alternately horrified and delighted that devoted negro. But he was alone--absolutely alone--in this conventicle! Presently he saw the door open slowly. It gave admission to the small round face and yellow ringlets of a little girl, and finally to her whole figure, clasping a doll nearly as large as herself. For a moment she stood there, arrested by the display of Mr. Hamlin's dressing case on the table. Then her glances moved around the room and rested upon the bed. Her blue eyes and Mr. Hamlin's brown ones met and mingled. Without a moment's hesitation she moved to the bedside. Taking her doll's hands in her own, she displayed it before him. “Isn't it pitty?” Mr. Hamlin was instantly his old self again. Thrusting his hand comfortably under the pillow, he lay on his side and gazed at it long and affectionately. “I never,” he said in a faint voice, but with immovable features, “saw anything so perfectly beautiful. Is it alive?” “It's a dolly,” she returned gravely, smoothing down its frock and straightening its helpless feet. Then seized with a spontaneous idea, like a young animal she suddenly presented it to him with both hands and said,-- “Kiss it.” Mr. Hamlin implanted a chaste salute on its vermilion cheek. “Would you mind letting me hold it for a little?” he said with extreme diffidence. The child was delighted, as he expected. Mr. Hamlin placed it in a sitting posture on the edge of his bed, and put an ostentatious paternal arm around it. “But you're alive, ain't you?” he said to the child. This subtle witticism convulsed her. “I'm a little girl,” she gurgled. “I see; her mother?” “Ess.” “And who's your mother?” “Mammy.” “Mrs. Rivers?” The child nodded until her ringlets were shaken on her cheek. After a moment she began to laugh bashfully and with repression, yet as Mr. Hamlin thought a little mischievously. Then as he looked at her interrogatively she suddenly caught hold of the ruffle of his sleeve. “Oo's got on mammy's nighty.” Mr. Hamlin started. He saw the child's obvious mistake and actually felt himself blushing. It was unprecedented--it was the sheerest weakness--it must have something to do with the confounded air.