As I paused, I looked across the room.  Mr. Hamilton was still standing by the mantelpiece, perfectly motionless.  He had covered his eyes with his hand, and seemed lost in profound thought.  He absolutely started when I addressed him.

‘Yes, we will go if you have finished,’ but he did not look at me as he spoke.  ’Phoebe, has the young lady done you any good?  Did you close your eyes and think you heard an angel singing?  Now you must let me take her away, for she is very tired, and has worked hard to-day.  To-morrow, if you ask her, she will come again.’

‘I shall not wait to be asked,’ I returned, answering the dumb, wistful look that greeted the doctor’s words.  ’Oh yes, I shall come again to-morrow, and we will have a little talk, and I will bring you some flowers, and if you care to hear me sing I have plenty of pretty songs.’  And then I kissed her forehead, for I felt strongly drawn to the poor creature, as though she were a strange, suffering sister, and I thought that the kiss and the song and the flowers would be a threefold cord of sympathy for her to bind round her harassed soul through the long hours of the night.

Mr. Hamilton followed me silently out, and on the threshold we encountered Susan Locke.  She was a thin, subdued-looking woman, dressed in rusty black, with a careworn, depressed expression that changed into pleasure at the sight of Mr. Hamilton.

’Oh, doctor, this is good of you, surely,—­and you so busy!  It is one of Phoebe’s bad days, when nothing pleases her and she will have naught to say to us, but groan and groan until one’s heart is pretty nigh broken.  I was half hoping that you would look in on us and give her a bit of a word.’

‘Miss Garston has done more than that,’ replied Mr. Hamilton.  ’I think you will find your sister a little cheered.  Give her something comfortable to eat and drink, and speak as cheerfully as you can.  Good-night, Miss Locke.’  And then he motioned to me to precede him down the little garden.  Mr. Hamilton was so very silent all the way home that I was somewhat puzzled; he did not speak at all about Phoebe,—­only said that he was afraid that I was very tired, and that he was the same; and when we came in sight of the cottage he left me rather abruptly; if it had not been for his few approving words to Susan Locke, I should have thought something had displeased him.

Uncle Max made me feel a little uncomfortable the next morning.  I met him as I was starting for my daily work, and he walked with me to Mrs. Marshall’s.

‘I was up at Gladwyn last evening, Ursula,’ he began.  ’Miss Elizabeth is still away, but the other ladies asked very kindly after you.  Miss Hamilton means to call on you one afternoon, only she seems puzzled to know how she is ever to find you at home.  I cannot think what put Hamilton into such a bad temper; he scarcely spoke to any of us, and looked horribly cranky, only I laughed at him and he got better; he never mentioned your name.  You have not fallen out again, eh, little she-bear?’ looking at me rather anxiously.