ing grew upon him he
was blind to all save that he held her in his arms, that uncertainty
was gone forever, and that he loved her. With these thoughts running
riot in his brain he carried her down the hill to Colonel Zane's
house.

The negro, Sam, who came out of the kitchen, dropped the bucket he
had in his hand and ran into the house when he saw them. When Alfred
reached the gate Colonel Zane and Isaac were hurrying out to meet
him.

"For Heaven's sake! What has happened? Is she badly hurt? I have
always looked for this," said the Colonel, excitedly.

"You need not look so alarmed," answered Alfred. "She has only
sprained her ankle, and trying to walk afterward hurt her so badly
that she became faint and I had to carry her."

"Dear me, is that all?" said Mrs. Zane, who had also come out. "We
were terribly frightened. Sam came running into the house with some
kind of a wild story. Said he knew you would be the death of Betty."

"How ridiculous! Colonel Zane, that servant of yours never fails to
say something against me," said Alfred, as he carried Betty into the
house.

"He doesn't like you. But you need not mind Sam. He is getting old
and we humor him, perhaps too much. We are certainly indebted to
you," returned the Colonel.

Betty was laid on the couch and consigned to the skillful hands of
Mrs. Zane, who pronounced the injury a bad sprain.

"Well, Betty, this will keep you quiet for a few days," said she,
with a touch of humor, as she gently felt the swollen ankle.

"Alfred, you have been our good angel so often that I don't see how
we shall ever reward you," said Isaac to Alfred.

"Oh, that time will come. Don't worry about that," said Alfred,
jestingly, and then, turning to the others he continued, earnestly.
"I will apologize for the manner in which I disregarded Miss Zane's
wish not to help her. I am sure I could do no less. I believe my
rudeness has spared her considerable suffering."

"What did he mean, Betts?" asked Isaac, going back to his sister
after he had closed the door. "Didn't you want him to help you?"

Betty did not answer. She sat on the couch while Mrs. Zane held the
little bare foot and slowly poured the hot water over the swollen
and discolored ankle. Betty's lips were pale. She winced every time
Mrs. Zane touched her foot, but as yet she had not uttered even a
sigh.

"Betty, does it hurt much?" asked Isaac.

"Hurt? Do you think I am made of wood? Of course it hurts," retorte