Katy Lennox had been very sick, and the bed where Wilford slept had
stood in the parlor during the long weeks while the obstinate fever ran
its course; but she was better now, and sat nearly all day before the
fire, sometimes trying to crochet a little, and again turning over the
books which Morris had brought to interest her--Morris, the kind
physician, who had attended her so faithfully, never leaving her while
the fever was at its height, unless it was necessary, but staying with
her day and night, watching her symptoms carefully, and praying so
earnestly that she might not die--not, at least, until some token had
been given that again in the better world he should find her, where
partings were unknown and where no Wilford Camerons could contest the
prize with him. Not that he was greatly afraid of Wilford now; that fear
had mostly died away just as the hope had died from Katy's heart that
she would ever meet him again.

Since the September morning when he left her, she had not heard from him
except once, when in the winter Morris had been to New York, and having
a few hours' leisure on his hands had called at Wilford's office,
receiving a most cordial reception, and meeting with young Mark Ray, who
impressed him as a man quite as highly cultivated as Wilford; and
possessed of more character and principle. This call was not altogether
of Morris' seeking, but was made rather with a view to pleasing Katy,
who, when she learned that he was going to New York, had said
inadvertently: "Oh, I do so hope you'll meet with Mr. Cameron, for then
we shall know that he is neither sick nor dead, as I have sometimes
feared."

And so, remembering this, Morris had sought out his rival, feeling more
than repaid for the mental effort it had cost him, when he saw how
really glad Wilford seemed to meet him. The first commonplaces over,