For some time the
two stood looking out over the valley, watching the heavy, leaden
clouds as they banked themselves up against the opposite hillside. The
rain continued to trickle from the eaves, the only sound audible above
the breathing of the man and woman. At last Doctor McMurray broke the
silence.
"It seems to me the clouds aren't lying quite so low on the hills as
they were. I wouldn't be surprised if it was going to clear up."
Mrs. Trent looked at the old man for a moment, and saw his meaning.
"Perhaps," she said doubtfully, "perhaps."
Doctor McMurray moved away from the window and began to draw on his
overcoat.
"Why, you're not going, doctor?" exclaimed Mrs. Trent with a note of
distress in her voice, as her eye took in his action.
"Yes, I'm sorry, Mrs. Trent, but I must look in at old Mr. Gebhart's
on the way down. The poor man has stomach trouble, I believe--they say
it's just the same thing that Mr. Withey had--and I think he'll be
looking for me."
"Doctor, you're so kind," Mrs. Trent interjected. "You're always
keeping an eye out for the unfortunate.
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