"Don't leave me," he entreated, as we hurried out through the maples to
the sidewalk. "It has come at last, and I feel, as I always knew I
should, like a murderer."

"What rubbish!" I retorted. "You don't know that anything has happened.
You don't know what the man's gone for."

"Yes, I do," he said. "Mrs. Bentley is--He's gone for the doctor."

As he spoke a buggy came tearing down the street behind us; the doctor
was in it, and the man in shirt-sleeves beside him. We did not try to
hail them, but as they whirled by the farmer turned his face, and again
called something unintelligible to Glendenning.

We made what speed we could after them, but they were long out of sight
in the mile that it seemed to me we were an hour in covering before we
reached the Bentley place. The doctor's buggy stood at the gate, and I
perceived that I was without authority to enter the house, on which some
unknown calamity had fallen, no matter with what good-will I had come; I
could see that Glendenning had suffered a sudden estrangement, also,
which he had to make a struggle against. But he went in, leaving me
without, as if he had forgotten me.

I could not go away, and I walked down the path to the gate, and waited
there, in case I should be in any wise wanted. After a very long time
the doctor came bolting over the walk towards me, as if he did not see
me, but he brought himself up short with an "Oh!" before he actually
struck against me. I had known him during our summer at the Conwell
place, where we used to have him in for our little ailments, and I would