“I am sick,” he answered, and went by himself to evade further questions, which he knew would rend his soul with anguish.  He early repaired to his room, but found no rest, and finding himself unable to attend to his studies the next day, obtained leave of absence.

CHAPTER XIII.

How long Margaret laid there, she never knew, but when she came to consciousness she found herself in her own room, and her father bending over her, with a look she had never seen on his face before,—­one of deep anxiety for her.

“All this ere comes from letting her go out in the air every day,” were the first words which broke the silence, and conveyed to her senses that any one beside her father was in the room.

All the recollection of her misery came over her then.  She had forgotten all, save that her father looked with eyes of love upon her.  The shrill voice broke the heavenly spell, and Magdalen knelt again in prayer at the Saviour’s feet.

She closed her eyes as though she would shut out the sorrow from her soul, while a look of deep pain settled on her features which her father mistook for physical suffering.  There was something in her pale face then, that reminded him of her dear, dead mother.  It touched the long buried love which had lain in his uncultured nature many years, and he drew his sleeve roughly across his eyes to wipe away the tears which would come, despite the searching glance of his wife, who looked upon any demonstration of that kind as so much loss to herself.

He thought Margaret would surely die.  It must be some terrible disease that caused her to look so white, and made her breathing so low and still, and he resolved to go for a physician.

His decision met with little favor from Mrs. Thorne, who fretted continually about the extra work and expense of a sick person, interspersing her growls with the remark which seemed stereotyped for the occasion: 

“A nice job I’ve got on my hands for the summer.”

“Come, I ’ll have no more grumbling to-night.  How long the poor girl laid in the woods nobody knows.  May-be she fainted and fell, and them ere faintin’ spells is dreadful dangerous, and I’m going for the doctor, if it takes the farm to pay for ’t.”

When Caleb Thorne spoke like that, his wife well knew that words of her own were of little avail, and she wisely concluded to keep silent.

Margaret might have remained as she had fallen, faint and uncared for in the woods, for a long time, had not the faithful dog, who instinctively knew that something was wrong, ran furiously to the house, and by strange motions and piteous pleading moans attracted the attention of Mr. Thorne from his work.  Trot would not act as he did without cause.  Caleb knew that, so he left his work and followed the dog, who ran speedily towards the woods, momentarily looking back to be sure that his master was close at hand, until he reached the spot where Margaret laid.