ion,
and--and--I came to tell you that I think your imprisonment is the
most unjust thing I ever heard of."

"Do you, really?" cried the young man, eagerly.

"I certainly do, and I spoke to father about it, severely. For a
time, I thought I was going to get you off, but something seemed to
occur to him, and he got angry, and said not to mention the subject
again. But I thought I would tell you just what I think of it."

"I can't thank you enough," said Donald, approaching her impulsively,
for the little woman's efforts in his behalf really touched him.
"I didn't know I had a friend in the world until this minute, and
I tell you I'm grateful--more so than you have any idea. You were
more than good, and I sha'n't forget it."

At his approach, Miss Fitzpatrick had pushed her chair back nervously
several inches, and, now, Donald turned away to hide the smile that
would struggle to his face, despite his efforts at suppression. To
bridge the situation, he pulled his pipe from his pocket, and began
to examine it intently.

"And that isn't all," continued Miss Fitzpatrick, nerving herself
for speech so that her curls quivered violently. "I want you to
know that I will do anything in my power to make your confinement
here easier, and will always have your interest at heart wherever
you are... There!

"You are a dear little woman, and I'm overwhelmed with your kindness,"
said Donald, in the deep, rich voice he unconsciously used when
moved. And, at that, the scarlet tide of joy that had been hovering
uncertainly in Miss Fitzpatrick mounted with a rush and suffused
her pale little face.

"Now," she went on briskly, to cover her confusion, "there are a
lot of newspapers at the house that of course you haven't read.
I'll send them over, with a book or two Mrs. Ponshette, at York,
sent down for Christmas. You really must do something to pass
the time."

Once more, Donald thanked her, when suddenly, without the slightest
intention, his pipe slipped from his fingers, and fell to the floor.
With an exclamation of annoyance, he picked it up, to find that
the amber stem had broken off close to the brier, rendering it
almost useless. Now he must have the other pipe, despite what Peter
Rainy had hinted, and who could get it but Laura Fitzpatrick?

Showing her the broken pieces in his hand, he exclaimed that life
would be unbearable without tobacco, and asked her to send his
reserve pipe over from the rack in the hall. This she