unreasonable storm as she had seen on the day
when she found the ring; but he was always
so sorry afterwards, and so grieved to have
grieved her, that she learned to dread these
scenes far more on his account than for the
passing pain they caused herself.

At first she always considered that she was to
blame when he fell into these strange fits of
temper; but she was soon half vexed, half
comforted, to find that his captious and suspicious
ways were discussed with lively interest in the
kitchen.

"I don't know what ever have a come to
'un. It's enough to drive a body maze-mad,"
old Isott declared, with free spoken wrath.
"He 've as good as told I a score o' times this
year as I were a trying for to deceive 'un. I
tell 'un I never did tell lies when I were young,
and 'taint likely as I'd begin now as I'll so
soon have to gie an account. Master baint half
the gentleman as he used to be, and I don't
care who hears me say so."

But in spite of these growls, Isott vigorously
snubbed her underlings if they ventured to make
any remarks to the same effect in her presence.

One hot August afternoon, when the earth
seemed to lie baking and panting under the
fierce heat of the sun, Mr. Denbigh was walking,
with rapid strides, across the field at the
back of his house. It was a short cut from
some parts of the village, but of late he had
seldom used it. On this occasion he crossed
the grass almost at a run, vaulted over the low
gate which led into the garden, and was soon
at the drawing-room window. The outside
blinds were down, and the room looked cool
and pleasant in their green shade; the perfume
of jasmine and roses and lemon-scented verbena,
breathed from the flower vases; and Elsie,
in her white summer dress, was seated at the
open window. She began an exclamation at
her husband's worn fagged looks, but he
interrupted her:

"I can't stop. I only came to tell you that
I was right in what I feared this morning.
Those Bailey children have scarlet fever,
undoubtedly, in its worst form. That poor little
boy is dead already, and the four others are
down. Fools that they are! Never calling one
in till it is too late."

"Oh, how sorry I am!"

"Yes, I don't see what chance any of them
have in that close nest of cottages; it must
spread like wildfire. And it has been for a week
in the workhouse wards at Slowcombe."

"Will that give you more work?"

"Of course; I have sent for help from Brixham,
but, till it comes, I must do all the work,
so don't wait dinner for me."

"But can't you come in and take a mutton
chop? No? Well, some cold meat? A
glass of wine, at least?" said Elsie, diminishing
her offers as he shook his head at every
suggestion.

"I shall do very well; only, love, don't expect
me till you see me, and, above all, don't
sit up."

"But can I do nothing to help these poor
people? Do they want nothing?"

"Nothing? Everything! Go to Mrs. Carter,
dearest, and see what woman's wit can devise
to help the sick, and, above all, to feed up and
care for those who are still well; prevention is
better than cure. Only, whatever happens, I
won't have you run into the slightest danger,
mind that."

Then followed two months, during which Mrs.
Denbigh scarcely saw her husband, though she
heard of him from many people, and never
without praise and blessing. It was a sharp
conflict that he waged with the plague fiend,
and he brought to the service all the power of
science and skill assisted by the thoroughness
which was his great characteristic. Though
he seemed to have more on his hands than
any human being could accomplish, no one was
neglected, no blunders were made, nobody
could complain of forgetfulness, or undue hurry
on the doctor's part, and many were dragged
back from the very brink of the grave. He
really seemed to live without eating or sleeping;
and, even when assistance came from elsewhere,
he only entered his own house for a hurried
meal, a cold bath, an hour's sleep, and, above
all, the word and kiss to his wife, which, as he
truly told her, were more to him than sleep.

With the freshening days of October, the
fever abated, the fresh cases became fewer
every day, and many of the sick began to
recover. The vicar's wife, who had been
managing a dispensary, while Mrs. Denbigh
had undertaken certain arrangements for feeding
some of those yet unstricken, reported that they
had better join forces, most of the convalescents
having reached a stage to require kitchen
physic. And at last there came an evening
when Mr. Denbigh entered his house as it
was growing dusk, and announced to his
delighted wife, that, unless specially summoned,
he should not go out again that night.

"Never mind about dinner, Elsie," he said;
"if you have dined, tea will be much more to the
purpose." And he passed on to his dressing-
room. When he entered the sitting-room again,
it was glowing vith the brightness of fire
and candle; the chintz curtains were drawn to
exclude the dreary wet daylight; the armchair
was drawn temptingly near the fire; and the
choice white tea-service, which Elsie only used
on rare occasions, sent out its fragrance from its
own particular little table. Elsie herself knelt
on the hearth, the firelight glancing on her
shining hair and the few bright ornaments on
her dark dress, as she coaxed the kettle into
boiling. It was a picture of home comfort,
and Philip Denbigh seemed for once to give
himself up entirely to the enjoyment of the
moment, as he sank back into the depths of his
armchair to his well-earned repose.

"Thank you," he roused himself to say, as
his wife arranged a tempting little meal at his
elbow on another small table; "I ought to be
waiting on you, my love, not you on me; but
somehow I am strangely tired."