She spoke lightly, but there was a peculiar tone in her voice which betrayed great weariness. It made Brian look at her more attentively than he had yet done--less from a lover's point of view, more from a doctor's. She was very pale. Though the running had brought a faint color to her cheeks, her lips were white, her forehead almost deathly. He knew that she had never really been well since her mother's death, but the change wrought within the last three weeks dismayed him; she was the mere shadow of her former self. “This hot weather is trying you,” he said. “Something is,” she replied. “Work, or weather, or worry, or the three combined.” “Come in and see my father,” said Brian, “and be idle for a little time; you will be writing more circulars if you go home.” “No, they are all done, and my examination is over, and there is nothing special going on just now; I think that is why I feel so like breaking down.” After a little more persuasion, she consented to go in and see Mr. Osmond. The house always had a peculiarly restful feeling, and the mere thought of rest was a relief to her; she would have liked the wheels of life to stop for a little while, and there was rest in the mere change of atmosphere. On the doorstep Brian encountered a patient, much to his vexation; so he could only take Erica into the study, and go in search of his father. He lingered however, just to tell him of his fears. “She looks perfectly worn out; you must find out what is wrong, father, and make her promise to see some one.” His tone betrayed such anxiety that his father would not smile although he was secretly amused at the task deputed to him. However, clergyman as he was, he had a good deal of the doctor about him, and he had seen so much of sickness and disease during his long years of hard work among the poor that he was after all about as ready an observer and as good a judge as Brian could have selected. Erica, leaning back in the great easy chair, which had been moved into summer quarters beside the window, heard the slow soft step she had learned to know so well, and before she had time to get up, found her hand in Charles Osmond's strong clasp. “How comfortable your chair is,” she said, smiling; “I believe I was nearly asleep.” He looked at her attentively, but without appearing to study her face in any way. She was very pale and there was an indefinable look of pain in her eyes. “Any news of the examination?” he asked, sitting down opposite her. “No, it is too soon yet,” she replied. “I thought I should have felt so anxious about it, but do you know, now that it is over, I can't make myself care a bit. If I have failed altogether, I don't believe I shall mind very much.” “Too tired to care for anything?” “Yes, I seem to have come to the end. I wish I were a watch, and could run down and rest for a few days and be wound up again.” He smiled. “What have you been doing with yourself to get so tired?”