elf?"

"Yes, it's nothing at all! He was a stranger just arrived from the
States, going to the mines--the old story; had no near relations, of
course; wasn't missed or asked after; remembers walking along the ridge
and falling over; name, John Baxter, of Maine." He paused, and relaxing
into a slight smile, added, "I haven't spoiled your romance, have I?"

"No," she said, with an answering smile. Then as the doctor walked
briskly away she slightly knitted her pretty brows, hung her head,
patted the ground with her little foot beyond the hem of her gown, and
said to herself, "The man was lying to him."

CHAPTER III

On her return to the house, Josephine apparently contented herself with
receiving the bulletin of the stranger's condition from the servant, for
she did not enter his room. She had obtained no theory of last night's
incident from her parents, who, beyond a querulous agitation that was
quickened by the news of his return to reason, refrained from even that
insidious comment which she half feared would follow. When another
day passed without her seeing him, she nevertheless was conscious of a
little embarrassment when his attendant brought her the request that
she would give him a moment's speech in the porch, whither he had been
removed.

She found him physically weaker; indeed, so much so that she was fain,
even in her embarrassment, to assist him back to the bench from which
he had ceremoniously risen. But she was so struck with the change in
his face and manner, a change so virile and masterful, in spite of its
gentle sadness of manner, that she recoiled with a slight timidity as if
he had been a stranger, although she was also conscious that he seemed
to be more at his ease than she was. He began in a low exhausted voice,
but before he had finished his first sentence, she felt herself in the
presence of a superior.

"My thanks come very late, Miss Forsyth," he said, with a faint smile,
"but no one knows better than yourself the reason why, or can better
understand that they mean that the burden you have so generously taken
on yourself is about to be lifted. I know all, Miss Forsyth. Since
yesterday I have learned how much I owe you, even my life I believe,
though I am afraid I must tell you in the same breath that THAT is of
little worth to any one. You have kindly helped and interested yourself
in a poor stranger who turns out to be a nobody, without friends,
without romance, and without even my