was in the presence of others, and they had never spoken a word privately
together since the day she had said to him that where he went she would
go, in life or out of it.

"You have been gone two months," Charley said now, after their touch of
hands and voiceless greeting. "Two months yesterday," she answered.

"At sundown," he replied, in an even voice.

"The Angelus was ringing," she answered calmly, though her heart was
leaping and her hands were trembling. The doctor, instantly busy with
the cordial, had not noticed what they said.

"Won't you join me?" he asked, offering a glass to Charley.

"Spirits do not suit me," answered Charley. "Matter of constitution,"
rejoined the doctor, and buttoned up his coat, preparing to depart. He
came close to Charley. "Now, I don't want to put upon you, Monsieur," he
said, "but this sick man is valuable in the parish--you take me? Well,
it's a difficult, delicate case, and I'd be glad if I could rely on you
for a few days. The Cure would do, but you are young, you have a sense
of things--take me? Half the fees are yours if you'll keep a sharp eye
on him--three times a day, and be with him at night a while. Fever is
the thing I'm afraid of--temperature--this way, please!" He went to the
window, and for a minute engaged Charley in whispered conversation. "You
take me?" he said cheerily at last, as he turned again towards Rosalie.

"Quite, Monsieur," answered Charley, and drew away, for he caught the
odour of the doctor's breath, and a cold perspiration broke out over him.
He felt the old desire for drink sweeping through him. "I will do what I