g impelled her to confide
to him what she had not entrusted to the descretion of any other person.
She owed him this confidence, for his disinterested kindness.

"Mr. Castrani," she said, quietly enough, outwardly, "circumstances, of
which I cannot speak, have made it necessary for me to leave New York. I
do not desire that the place of my destination shall be known to any one.
But to show you how much I appreciate your kindness, and how entirely I
trust you, I will inform you that I am going to Lightfield, in New
Hampshire, to stop an indefinite length of time with my old nurse, Mrs.
Day."

Castrani was visibly affected by this proof of her confidence.

"From me, no one shall ever know the place of your refuge," he said,
earnestly. "Your train leaves at ten. It is now nine. If you would only
permit me to see you safely to the end of your journey!"

She flushed. He read a quiet reproach in her eye.

"Pardon me. I know it may seem like officiousness, but I would try and
not be disagreeable to you. I would not even speak to you, if you desired
it should be so. But I could travel in the same car with you, and be
there to protect you, if you should need me."

"I thank you greatly. But I had rather you went no further. I shall meet
with no difficulty, I think. I shall reach Nurse Day's by sunset."

"As you will. I will not press the matter. Your pleasure shall be mine."

A little later, he assisted her from the carriage that had taken her to
the depot. Her baggage was checked--he handed her the check, and her
ticket, and then pressed into her hand a roll of bank-notes. She put them
back quietly, but he declined taking them.

"I do not give it to you--I lend it to you. You shall repay it at your
convenience."

"On these conditions, I thank you, also."

She put out her hand. He took it, resisted the inclination to press his
lips to it, and held it lightly in his.

"If you will give me permission--to call upon you--should I be in
Lightfield during your stay there--I shall be more than happy!"

She was about to refuse, but the mute pleading of his eyes deterred her.
He had been kind to her, and it could do her no harm. Probably, he would
never come to Lightfield, so she gave him the permission he asked for.

The day passed without incident, and nightfall found Margie within ten
miles of her destination. She was driven along a rough country road, to a
square farm-house--looming up white through the dark--and a mome