Mechanically I covered the dying fire with ashes; lighted my candle;
snuffed out those in the sconces, and went out into the kitchen. I
wound the clock and set my bread to rise. I heard one of the dogs
whining in the dining-room; he had been unintentionally shut in. I let
him out. He showed his gratitude in his dog's way and followed me,
unbidden, upstairs to my room.
I entered, and shut the door softly not to rouse Jamie and Mrs.
Macleod. I heard the dog settle on the threshold. Somehow, the sound
helped me to bear. It was something belonging to _him_ that was near
me in my trouble.
I sat down on the side of my bed--sat there, I think, all night. A
round of thought kept turning like a mill-wheel in my head:--"The man I
love is my father--Mr. Ewart, my father, is the man I love."
It was maddening.
The mill-wheel turned and turned with terrible rapidity. I held my
head in both hands. Towards morning, when the light began to break, I
looked about me. At sight of the familiar interior, the wheel in my
head turned more slowly--stepped for a moment. In the silence I could
think; think another thought: "The Doctor is not _sure_--"