welcome blaze of their own fire gladdened them at length, and when
the last step was taken, Sylvia sat down with an inward conviction she
never could get up again. Warwick told their mishap in the fewest
possible words, while Mark, in a spasm of brotherly solicitude, goaded
the fire to a roar that his sister's feet might be dried, administered a
cordial as a preventive against cold, and prescribed her hammock the
instant supper was done. She went away with him, but a moment after she
came to Warwick with a box of Prue's ointment and a soft handkerchief
stripped into bandages.

"What now?" he asked.

"I wish to dress your burns, sir."

"They will do well enough with a little water; go you and rest."

"Mr. Warwick, you know you ate your supper with your left hand, and put
both behind you when you saw me looking at them. Please let me make them
easier; they were burnt for me, and I shall get no sleep till I have had
my way."

There was a curious mixture of command and entreaty in her manner, and
before their owner had time to refuse or comply, the scorched hands were
taken possession of, the red blisters covered with a cool bandage, and
the frown of pain smoothed out of Warwick's forehead by the prospect of
relief. As she tied the last knot, Sylvia glanced up with a look that
mutely asked pardon for past waywardness, and expressed gratitude for
past help; then, as if her heart were set at rest, she was gone before
her patient could return his thanks.

She did not reappear, Mark went to send a lad after the lost boat, and
the two friends were left alone; Warwick watching the blaze, Moor
watching him, till, with a nod toward a pair of diminutive boots that
stood turning out their toes before the fire, Adam said--

"The wearer of those defiant-looking articles is the most capricious
piece of humanity it was ever my fortune to see. You have no idea of the
life she has led me since you left."

"I can imagine it."

"She is as freakish, and wears as many shapes as Puck; a gnat, a
will-o'-the-wisp, a Sister of Charity, a meek-faced child; and one does
not know in which guise she pleases most. Hard the task of him who has
and tries to hold her."

"Hard yet happy; for a word will tame the high spirit, a look touch the
warm heart, a kind act be repaid with one still kinder. She is a woman
to be studied well, taught tenderly, and, being won, cherished with an
affection that knows no shadow of a change."

Moor spoke low,