Agatha called the old dog to her again.  This time he came near, rubbed hard against her dress, and, when she sat down on a flat tombstone, laid his head comfortably in her lap, wagging his tail in satisfaction.

Danny was a companion who did not obstruct thought, but encouraged it; and as Agatha sat resting on the stone with Danny close by, in that quiet yard full of the noiseless ghosts of the past, her thoughts went back to James.  His unnatural eyes and restless spirit haunted her.  She thought of that other night on the water, full of heartbreaking struggle as it was, as a happy night compared to the one which was yet to come.  She recalled their foolish talk while they were on the beach, and smiled sadly over it.  Her courage was at the ebb.  She felt that the buoyancy of spirit that had sustained them both during the night of struggle could never revisit the wasted and disorganized body lying in Parson Thayer’s house—­her house.  A certain practical sense that was strong in her rose and questioned whether she had done everything that could be done for his welfare.  She thought so.  Had she not even prayed, with all her concentration of mind and will?  She heard again Susan Stoddard’s deep voice:  “No striving toward God is ever lost!” In spite of her unfaith, a sense of rest in a power larger than herself came upon her unawares.  Danny, who had wandered away, came back and sat down heavily on the edge of her skirt, close to her.  “Good Danny!” she praised, petting him to his heart’s content.

It was thus that Aleck Van Camp found them, as he came over the stile from the house.  His tones were slower and more precise than ever, but his face was drawn and marked with anxiety.  He had a careful thought for Agatha, even in the face of his greater trouble.

“You have chosen a bad hour to wander about, Miss Redmond.  The evening dews are heavy.”

“Yes, I know; Danny and I were just going home.  Have you been into the house?”

“Yes, I left Doctor Thayer there in consultation with the other physician that came to-day.  They sent me off.  Old Jim—­well, you know as well as I do.  With your permission, I’m going to stay the night.  I’ll bunk in the hall, or anywhere.  Don’t think of a bed for me; I don’t want one.”

“I’m glad you’ll stay.  It seems, somehow, as if every one helps; that is, every one who cares for him.”

“Doctor Thayer thinks there will be a change tonight, though it is difficult to tell.  Jim’s family have my telegram by this time, and they will get my letter to-morrow, probably.  Anyway, I shall wait until morning before I send another message.”

The tension of their thoughts was too sharp; they turned for relief to the scene before them, stopping at the stile to look back at the steepled white church, standing under its spreading balm-of-Gilead tree.

“It seems strange,” said Agatha, “to think that I sat out there under that big tree as a little girl.  Everything is so different now.”