parlour besides the
kitchen,--oh, the parlour's very sweet!--it has a big window which my
father built himself, and it looks out on a lovely view of the orchard
and the stream,--then I have three more rooms, and a wash-house and
cellar. It's almost too big a cottage for me, but father loved it, and
he died here,--that's why I keep all his things about me and stay on in
it. He planted all the roses in the orchard,--and I couldn't leave
them!"

Helmsley said nothing in answer to this. She put an armchair for him
near the bed.

"Now as soon as you're in bed, just call to me and I'll put out the
light in the kitchen and go to bed myself,"--she said--"And I'll take
the little doggie with me, and make him comfortable for the night. I'm
leaving you a candle and matches, and if you feel badly at all, there's
a handbell close by,--mind you ring it, and I'll come to you at once and
do all I can for you."

He bent his eyes searchingly upon her in his old suspicious "business"
way, his fuzzy grey eyebrows almost meeting in the intensity of his
gaze.

"Tell me--why are you so good to me?" he asked.

She smiled.

"Don't ask nonsense questions, please, Mr. David! Haven't I told you
already?--not why I am 'good,' because that's rubbish--but why I am
trying to take care of you?"

"Yes--because I am old!" he said, with a sudden pang of
self-contempt--"and--useless!"

"Good-night!" she answered, cheerfully--"Call to me when you are ready!"

She was gone before he could speak another word and he heard her talking
to Charlie in petting playful terms of endearment. Judging from the
sounds in the kitchen, he concluded, and rightly, that she was getting
her own supper and that of the dog at the same time. For two or three
minutes he sat inert, considering his strange and unique position. What
would this present adventure lead to? Unless his new friend, Mary Deane,
examined the vest he had asked her to take care of for him, she would
not discover who he was or from whence he came. Would she examine
it?--would she unrip the lining, just out of feminine curiosity, and sew
it up again, pretending that she had not touched it, after the "usual
way of women"? No! He was sure,--absolutely sure--of her integrity.
What? In less than an hour's acquaintance with her, would he swear to
her honesty? Yes, he would! Never could such eyes as hers, so softly,
darkly blue and steadfast, mirror a falsehood, or deflect the fragment
of a broken promise