to Sadie's beast. She saw his
worn, earnest face looking up at her through the dim light.

"Don't be afraid for your aunt and for yourself," said he. "I am
sure that you will escape. Colonel Cochrane will look after you. The
Egyptians cannot be far behind. I do hope you will have a good drink
before you leave the wells. I wish I could give your aunt my jacket, for
it will be cold tonight. I'm afraid I can't get it off. She should keep
some of the bread, and eat it in the early morning."

He spoke quite quietly, like a man who is arranging the details of a
picnic. A sudden glow of admiration for this quietly consistent man
warmed her impulsive heart.

"How unselfish you are!" she cried. "I never saw any one like you. Talk
about saints! There you stand in the very presence of death, and you
think only of us."

"I want to say a last word to you, Sadie, if you don't mind. I should
die so much happier. I have often wanted to speak to you, but I
thought that perhaps you would laugh, for you never took anything very
seriously, did you? That was quite natural, of course, with your high
spirits, but still it was very serious to me. But now I am really a dead
man, so it does not matter very much what I say."

"Oh, don't, Mr. Stephens!" cried the girl.

"I won't, if it is very painful to you. As I said, it would make me die
happier, but I don't want to be selfish about it. If I thought it would
darken your life afterwards or be a sad recollection to you I would not
say another word."

"What did you wish to say?"

"It was only to tell you how I loved you. I always loved you. From the
first I was a different man when I was with you. But of course it was
absurd, I knew that well enough. I never said anything, and I tried not
to make myself ridiculous. But I just want you to know about it now that
it can't matter one way or the other. You'll understand that I really
do love you when I tell you that, if it were not that I knew you were
frightened and unhappy, these last two days in which we have been always
together would have been infinitely the happiest of my life."

The girl sat pale and silent, looking down with wondering eyes at his
upturned face. She did not know what to do or say in the solemn presence
of this love which burned so brightly under the shadow of death. To her
child's heart it seemed incomprehensible,--and yet she understood that
it was sweet and beautiful also.

"I won't say any more," said he; "I can