“I am not his daughter —­ so as far as that goes we are even. 
And by your own confession you know nothing of the matter; and
I do.  No —­ you must not go above this floor.”

“Until when, Mr. Landholm?” said Elizabeth looking terrified.

“Until new rules are made,” he said quietly.  “While you can do nothing in your father’s room, both for him and for you it is much better that you should not be there.”

“And can’t I do anything?” said Elizabeth.

“If I think you are wanted, I will let you know.  Meanwhile there is one thing that can be done everywhere.”

He spoke, looking at her with a face of steady kind gravity.  Elizabeth could not meet it; she trembled with the effort she made to control herself.

“It is the thing of all others that I cannot do, Mr. Landholm.”

“Learn it now, then.  Which is the room?”

Elizabeth told him, without raising her eyes; and stood motionless on the floor where he left her, without stirring a finger, as long as she could hear the sound of his footsteps.  They went first to the front door, and she heard him turn the key; then they went up the stairs.

The locking of that door went to her heart, with a sense of comfort, of dependence, of unbounded trust in the hand, the heart, the head, that had done it.  It roused, or the taking off of restraint roused again, all the tumult of passions that had raged after her first coming in.  She dropped on her knees by the sofa and wrapping her arms round the cushion as she had done before, she laid her head down on it, and to all feeling laid her heart down too; such bitter and deep and long sobs shook and racked her breast.

She was alive to nothing but feeling and the indulgence of it, and careless how much time the indulgence of it might take.  It was passion’s time.  She was startled when two hands took hold of her and a grave voice said,

“If you do in this way, I shall have two patients instead of one, Miss Elizabeth.”

Elizabeth suffered herself to be lifted up and placed on the sofa, and sat down like a child.  Even at the instant came a flash of recollection bringing back the time, long past, when Winthrop had lifted her out of the rattlesnake’s way.  She felt ashamed and rebuked.

“This is not the lesson I set you,” he said gently.

Elizabeth’s head drooped lower.  She felt that he had two patients —­ if he had only known it!

“You might set me a great many lessons that I should be slow to learn, Mr. Landholm,” she said sadly.

“I hope not,” he said in his usual tone.  “There is no present occasion for this distress.  I cannot see that Mr. Haye’ symptoms are particularly unfavourable.”

Elizabeth could have answered a great deal to that; but she only said, tearfully,

“How good you are to take care of him!”

“I will be as good as I can,” said he smiling a little.  “I should like to have you promise to do as much.”