m, and I showed the Betty child how to make chowder."

"She told me," said Anthony. "You're one of her best friends, captain."

"Well, goodness only knows she needs friends," said the little captain,
adding with a significant emphasis which escaped the preoccupied
Anthony, "She needs somebody to take care of her."

Receiving no response, the little man lighted his pipe, buttoned his
coat, and, remarking genially, "Well, you let me know about that day's
fishin'," he steamed out.

After his departure Anthony sat for some time in the deserted room. He
knew that rest and refreshment were waiting for him and he knew that he
needed them, but his mind was weighed down by the problem of that
helpless child in the old house. All through the night as he had battled
for the life of his patient, he had thought of her, who must battle with
the world. He could get her work, of course, but he shrank from the
thought of her pale loveliness set to sordid uses.

With a sudden gesture of resolution, he stood up and drew on his gloves.

Ten minutes later he was climbing the winding stairway, where the iron
lantern again illumined the darkness.

There had been no response to his call from below, and when he reached
the upper landing he found the door shut. He knocked and presently
Bettina came. He saw at a glance that she had been crying.

"I can stay only a minute," he said. "I haven't had much sleep since I
saw you yesterday."

"I'll make you some tea," she offered, but he stopped her with a quick,
"No, no,--I've just had coffee, and I must get home."

They sat down, somewhat stiffly, on opposite sides of the hearth.

"What made you cry?" he asked, with his keen eyes on her downcast face.

"Everything--the rain yesterday--the fog to-day. I wish the sun would
shine--I wish--I were--dead----"

With a sharp exclamation, he stood up. "You're too young to say such
things--there's all of life before you."

"Yes," she said dully, "there's all of life----"

To him she was a most appealing figure. Her weakness seemed to stand out
against the background of his strength. Suddenly he held out his hands
to her. "Come here, Betty child," he said, using, unconsciously, the
little captain's name for her, "come here."

Some new note in his voice made her cheeks flame, but she obeyed him. He
took both of her hands in his. "I've been thinking of you, and your
future. Somehow I can't see you, a little slip of a thing like you,
being beaten