Suddenly he became aware that she was and had been silently weeping, and he was filled with anxiety for her, so brave she had been, so tired she must be—worn out—poor little heart!
"Are you so tired?" he asked.
"Oh, no, no."
"Won't you tell me what troubles you? Let me put this over your shoulders to keep off the rain."
"Oh, no, no!" she cried, as he began to remove his coat. "You need it a heap more than I. You have been sick, and I am well."
"Please wear it. I will walk a little to keep warm."
"Oh! I can't. I'm not cold, Doctor Thryng. It isn't that."
He became imperative through anxiety. "Then tell me what it is," he said.
"I can't stop thinking of Decatur Irwin. I can feel you working there yet, and seems like I never will forget. I keep going over it and over it and can't stop. Doctor, are you sure—sure—it was right for us to do what we did?"
"Poor child! It was terrible for you, and you were fine, you