And now she had gone.  Mrs. Higgins had said “for a day or two,” but that was indefinite, and she had not said she would return when those two days had passed.  He was better now, almost well.  Would she come back to him?  After all, conditions in the village had not changed.  He was still pastor of the Regular church and she was a Come-Outer.  The man she had promised to marry was dead—­yes.  But the other conditions were the same.  And Mrs. Higgins had refused to tell him the whole truth; he was certain of that.  She had run away when he questioned her.

He rose from the chair and started toward the living room.  He would not be put off again.  He would be answered.  His hand was on the latch of the door when that door was opened.  Dr. Parker came in.

The doctor was smiling broadly.  His ruddy face was actually beaming.  He held out his hand, seized the minister’s, and shook it.

“Good morning, Mr. Ellery,” he said.  “It’s a glorious day.  Yes, sir, a bully day.  Hey? isn’t it?”

Ellery’s answer was a question.

“Doctor,” he said, “why have Mrs. Coffin and—­and Miss Van Horne gone?  Has anything happened?  I know something has, and you must tell me what.  Don’t try to put me off or give me evasive answers.  I want to know why they have gone.”

Parker looked at him keenly.  “Humph!” he grunted.  “I’ll have to get into Mrs. Higgins’s wig.  I told her not to let you worry, and you have worried.  You’re all of a shake.”

“Never mind that.  I asked you a question.”

“I know you did.  Now, Mr. Ellery, I’m disappointed in you.  I thought you were a sensible man who would take care of his health, now that he’d got the most of it back again.  I’ve got news for you—­good news—­but I’m not sure that I shall tell it to you.”

“Good news!  Dr. Parker, if you’ve got news for me that is good, for Heaven’s sake tell it.  I’ve been imagining everything bad that could possibly happen.  Tell me, quick.  My health can stand that.”

“Ye-es, yes, I guess it can.  They say joy doesn’t kill, and that’s one of the few medical proverbs made by unmedical men that are true.  You come with me and sit down in that chair.  Yes, you will.  Sit down.”

He led his patient back to the chair by the window and forced him into it.

“There!” he said.  “Now, Mr. Ellery, if you think you are a man, a sensible man, who won’t go to pieces like a ten-year-old youngster, I’ll—­I’ll let you sit here for a while.”

“Doctor?”

“You sit still.  No, I’m not going to tell you anything.  You sit where you are and maybe the news’ll come to you.  If you move it won’t.  Going to obey orders?  Good!  I’ll see you by and by, Mr. Ellery.”

He walked out of the room.  It seemed to Ellery that he sat in that chair for ten thousand years before the door again opened.  And then—­

—­“Grace!” he cried.  “O Grace! you—­you’ve come back.”