"He will come back again," she said, "and he will be glad to have this writing off his mind to-night.

I was only afraid he might take cold; you know he has a stubborn little cough.

Why did you want to see me, Giff ?" She took some knitting from her work-table, and, shaking out its fleecy softness, began to work, the big wooden needles making a velvety sound as they rubbed together.

Gifford was opposite her, his hands thrust moodily into his pockets, his feet stretched straight out, and his head sunk on his breast.

But he did not look as though he were resting; an intent anxiety seemed to pervade his big frame, and Helen could not fail to observe it.