y. "I should
like to know what your reasons are, Vesta."

"Oh!" Miss Vesta sighed, as if she felt the hopelessness of fluttering
her wings against the dead wall of masculinity before her; nevertheless
she spoke up bravely.

"I have given you one reason already, James. It would be not only
unseemly, but impossible, for me to leave my guest. But even without
that, even if I were entirely alone, still I could not go. My duties;
the house; my dear sister's ideas,--she always said a house could not be
left for a month by the entire family without deteriorating in some
way--though Diploma is most excellent, most faithful. Then,--it is a
small matter, but--I have always cared for my seaward lamp in person. I
have never been away, James, since--I first lighted the lamp. Then--"

"I am still waiting for a reason," said Doctor Stedman, grimly. "I have
not heard what I call one yet."

The soft color rose in Miss Vesta's face, and she lifted her eyes to his
with a look he had seen in them once or twice before.

"Then here is one for you, James," she said, quietly. "I do not wish to
go!"

Doctor Stedman rose abruptly, and tramped up and down the room in moody
silence. Miss Vesta sighed, and watched his feet. They were heavily
booted, but--no, there were no nails in them, and the shining floor
remained intact.

Suddenly he came to a stop in front of her.

"What if I carried you off, you inflexible little piece of porcelain?"
he said. "What if--Vesta,--may I speak once more?"

"Oh, if you would please not, James!" cried Miss Vesta, a soft hurry in
her voice, her cheeks very pink. "I should be so truly grateful to you
if you would not. I am so happy in your friendship, James. It is such a
comfort, such a reliance to me. Do not, I beg of you, my dear friend,
disturb it."

"But--you are alone, child. If Phoebe had lived, I had made up my mind
never to trouble you again. She is gone, and you are alone, and tired,
and--I find it hard to bear, Vesta. I do indeed."

He spoke with heat and feeling. Miss Vesta's eyes were full of
tenderness as she raised them to his.

"You are so kind, James!" she said. "No one ever had a kinder or more
faithful friend; of that I am sure. But you must never think that, about
my being alone. I am never alone; almost never--at least, not so very
often, even lonely. I live with a whole life-full of blessed memories.
Besides, I have Aunt Marcia. She needs me more and more, and by and by,
when her m