There sat the sick girl, her head nestling upon the shoulder of Grace Harvey; a tall, delicate thing of seventeen, with thin white cheeks, the hectic spot aflame on each, and long fair curls, which mingled lovingly with Grace’s dark tresses, as they sat cheek against cheek, and hand in hand.  Her eyes were closed; Tom thought at first that she was asleep:  but there was a quiet smile about her pale lips; and every now and then her left hand left Grace’s, to move toward a leaf full of strawberries which lay on Grace’s lap; and Tom could see that she was listening intently to Grace, who told and told, in that sweet, measured voice of hers, her head erect, her face in the full blaze of sunshine, her great eyes looking out far away beyond the sea, beyond the sky, into some infinite which only she beheld.

Tom had approached unheard, across the farm-yard straw.  He stood and looked his fill.  The attitude of the two girls was so graceful, that he was loth to disturb it; and loth, too, to disturb a certain sunny calm which warmed at once and softened his stout heart.

He wished, too—­he scarce knew why—­to hear what Grace was saying; and as he listened, her voice was so distinct and delicate in its modulations, that every word came clearly to his ear.

It was the beautiful old legend of St. Dorothea:—­

“So they did all sorts of dreadful things to her, and then led her away to die; and they stood laughing there.  But after a little time there came a boy, the prettiest boy that ever was seen on earth, and in his hand a basket full of fruits and flowers, more beautiful than tongue can tell.  And he said, ’Dorothea sends you these, out of the heavenly garden which she told you of—­will you believe her now?’ And then, before they could reply, he vanished away.  And Theophilus looked at the flowers, and tasted the fruit—­and a new heart grew up within him; and he said, ’Dorothea’s God shall be my God, and I will die for him like her.’

“So you see, darling, there are sweeter fruits than these, and gayer flowers, in the place to which you go; and all the lovely things in this world here will seem quite poor and worthless beside the glory of that better land which He will show you:  and yet you will not care to look at them; for the sight of Him will be enough, and you will care to think of nothing else.”

“And you are sure He will accept me, after all?” asked the sick girl, opening her eyes, and looking up at Grace.  She saw Thurnall standing in the doorway, and gave a little scream.

Tom came forward, bowing.  “I am very sorry to have disturbed you.  I suspect Miss Harvey was giving you better medicine than I can give.”

Now why did Tom say that, to whom the legend of St. Dorothea, and, indeed, that whole belief in a better land, was as a dream fit only for girls?