th Levice's vanity had been highly fed
by Dr. Kemp's unmistakable desire for her assistance. He must at least
have looked at her with friendly eyes; but here her modesty drew a line
even for herself, and giving herself a mental shake, she saw that two
lambent brown eyes were looking wonderingly at her from the face of the
sick lad.

"How do you feel now, Bob?" she asked, rising immediately and smiling
down at him.

The boy forgot to answer.

"The doctor brought me here," she went on brightly; "but as you were
asleep, he could not wait. Are you feeling better, Bob?"

The soft, star-like eyes did not wander in their gaze.

"Why did you come?" he breathed finally. His voice was surprisingly
musical.

"Why?" faltered Ruth. "Oh, to bring you these roses. Do you care for
flowers, Bob?" She lifted the mass of delicate buds toward him. Two
pale, transparent hands went out to meet them. Tenderly as you sometimes
see a mother press the cheek of her babe to her own, he drew them to his
cheek.

"Oh, my darlings, my darlings!" he murmured passionately, with his lips
pressed to the fragrant petals.

"Do you love them, then, so much?"

"Lady," replied the boy, raising himself to a sitting posture, "there is
nothing in the world to me like flowers."

"I never thought boys cared so for flowers," remarked Ruth, in surprise.

"I am a gardener," said he, simply, and again fell to caressing the
roses. Sitting up, he looked fully seventeen or eighteen years old.

"You must have missed them during your illness," observed Ruth.

A long sigh answered her. The boy rested his dreamy eyes upon her. He
was no longer ugly, with his thoughts illumining his face.

"Marechal Niel," she heard him whisper, still with his eyes upon her,
"all in soft, radiant robes like a gracious queen. Lady, you fit well
next my Homer rose."

"What Homer rose?" asked Ruth, humoring the flower-poet's odd conceit.

"My strong, brave Homer. There is none like him for strength, with all
his gentle perfume folded close to his heart. I used to think these
Duchesses would suit him best; but now, having seen you, I know they
were too frail,--Marechal Niel." It was impossible to resent openly the
boy's musings; but with a quick insistence that stemmed the current of
his thoughts, she said,--

"Tell me where you suffer, Bob."

"I do not suffer. I am only weak; but he is nourishing me, and Mrs.
Mills brings me what he orders."

"And is there anything you wo