Dr. Eben's heart gave a bound of joy. In
that second, he believed that the time would come when Hetty would love
him. He had never heard such a tone from her lips before. Her hand
rested on his arm. He laid his upon it,--the first caressing touch he
had ever dared to offer to Hetty; the first caressing touch which Hetty
had ever received from hand of man.

"I will not, Hetty, till you are willing I should," he said. He had
never called her "Hetty" before. A tumult filled Hetty's heart; but all
she said was, in a most matter-of-fact tone:

"That's right! we must go in now. It is too cold out here."

Dr. Eben did not care what her words were: nature had revealed herself
in a tone.

"I'll make her love me yet," he thought. "It won't take a great while
either; she's beginning, and she doesn't know it." He was so happy that
he did not know at first that Hetty had left him alone in front of the
fire. When he found she had gone, he drew up a big arm-chair, sank back
in its depths, put his feet on the fender, and fell to thinking how, by
spring, perhaps, he might marry Hetty. In the midst of this lover-like
reverie, he fell asleep in the most unlover-like way. He was worn out
with his long night's watching. In a few minutes, Hetty came back with
hot broth which she had prepared for him. Her light step did not rouse
him. She stood still by his chair, looking down on his face. His
clear-cut features, always handsome, were grand in sleep. The solemnity
of closed eyes adds to a noble face something which is always very
impressive. He stirred uneasily, and said in his sleep, "Hetty." A great
wave of passionate feeling swept over her face, as, standing there, she
heard this tender sound of her name on his unconscious lips.

"Oh what will become of me if I love him after all," she thought.

"Why not, why not?" answered her heart; wakened now and struggling for
its craved and needed rights. "Why not, why not?" and no answer came to
Hetty's mind.

Moving noiselessly, she set the broth on a low table by the doctor's
side, covered him carefully with her own heavy cloak, and left the room.
On the threshold, she turned back and looked again at his face. Her
conscious thoughts were more than she could bear. In sudden impatience
with herself, she exclaimed, "Pshaw! how silly I am!" and hastened
upstairs, more like the old original Hetty than she had been for many
days. Love could not enthrone himself easily in Hetty's nature: it was a