unwise that to address a note to Miss Daw, thanking her for the
flower. It would, I am sure, offend her delicacy beyond pardon. She
knows you only through me; you are to her an abstraction, a figure
in a dream--a dream from which the faintest shock would awaken her.
Of course, if you enclose a note to me and insist on its delivery,
I shall deliver it; but I advise you not to do so.

You say you are able, with the aid of a cane, to walk about your
chamber, and that you purpose to come to The Pines the instant
Dillon thinks you strong enough to stand the journey. Again I
advise you not to. Do you not see that, every hour you remain away,
Marjorie's glamour deepens, and your influence over her increases?
You will ruin everything by precipitancy. Wait until you are
entirely recovered; in any case, do not come without giving me
warning. I fear the effect of your abrupt advent here--under the
circumstances.

Miss Daw was evidently glad to see us back again, and gave me both
hands in the frankest way. She stopped at the door a moment this
afternoon in the carriage; she had been over to Rivermouth for her
pictures. Unluckily the photographer had spilt some acid on the
plate, and she was obliged to give him another sitting. I have an
intuition that something is troubling Marjorie. She had an
abstracted air not usual with her. However, it may be only my
fancy. . . . I end this, leaving several things unsaid, to
accompany my father on one of those long walks which are now his
chief medicine--and mine!


XI.