“Good-by, my dear.  Just get well, now.  I’m coming back, and then we’ll have a talk.  Be good, now, and don’t walk in your sleep any more.”  He took Dunwody by the shoulder and led him out.

“I don’t like this, Dunwody,” he said, when they were out of earshot of the room.  “What’s going on here?  I’m your doctor, as we both know; but I’m your friend, too.  And we both know that I’m a gentleman, and you ought to be.  That’s a lady there.  She’s in trouble—­she’s scared e’en a’most to death.  Why?  Now listen.  I don’t help in that sort of work, my boy.  What’s up here?  I’ve helped you before, and I’ve held your secrets; but I don’t go into the business of making any more secrets, d’ye see?”

“There aren’t going to be any more, Jamieson,” rejoined Dunwody slowly.  “I’ve got to keep hers.  You needn’t keep mine if you don’t feel like it.  Get her well, that’s all.  This is no place for her.  As for me, as you know very well, there isn’t any place anywhere for me.”

The old doctor sighed.  “Brace up to it, my son.  But play the game fair.  If it comes to a case of being kind to yourself or kind to a woman, why, take a gamble, and try being kind to the woman.  They need it.  I’m coming back:  but now I must be getting on.  First, I’m going to get something to eat.  Where’s the whisky?”

Dunwody for the time left him, and began moodily to pace apart, up and down the gallery.  Here presently he was approached by Jeanne, the maid.

“Madame will speak to you!” announced that person loftily, and turned away scornfully before he had time to reply.  Eager, surprised, he hastened up the stair and once more was at her bedside.  “Yes?” he said.  “Did you wish me for anything?”

Josephine pushed herself back against the head board of the bed, half supported by pillows.  With her free hand she attempted to put back a fallen lock of dark hair.  It was not care for her personal appearance which animated her, however, although her costume, arranged by her maid, now was that of the sick chamber.  “Jeanne,” she said, “go to the armoire, yonder.  Bring me what you find there.  Wait,” she added to Dunwody.  “I’ve something to show you, something to ask you, yes.”

Jeanne turned, over her arm now the old and worn garments which Sally earlier had attempted to remove.

“What are these?” exclaimed Josephine of the man who stood by.

He made no reply, but took the faded silks in his own hands, looking at them curiously, as though he himself saw something unexpected, inexplicable.

“What are they, sir?  Whose were they?  You told me once you were alone here.”

“I am,” he answered.  “Look.  These are years old, years, years old.”

“What are they?  Whose were they?” she reiterated.

“They are grave clothes,” he said simply, and looked her in the face.  “Do you wish to know more?”

“Is she—­was she—­is she out there?” He knew she meant to ask, in the graveyard of the family.