She marveled daily over the spirit of sacrifice that could make the rising young doctor with such life and prospects before him deliberately go to that far-off land to do what any common doctor might do. It was again that same old problem that she had puzzled over at Hillcroft, what strange power was the motive? She began to feel a certain desire, faint, but still perceptible even to herself, to feel that power in her own life. She put more real earnestness into her prayer by fits and starts now. Sometimes she fancied she really meant it. She was glad she had thought of inviting Doctor Grey to dinner. She watched daily to see if he would call. She remained at home a great deal afternoons, and often in the evenings pleaded some excuse for foregoing a social engagement. She longed to have a talk with him, just to ask him one or two questions, and—yes, just to have him tell her once more he was praying for her, if he was. It somehow had grown to be a comfort to her when she was unhappy to think of that good man praying for her.
