I had resolved that I would not seek to see her alone while Mr. Hearn was away, and so resumed my long rambles. When I returned, about supper time, she was sitting on the piazza watching Adela and Zillah playing with their dolls. She did not look up as I took a seat on the steps not far away. At last I began, "Can I tell you that I am very sorry you have been ill to-day?" "I wasn't dangerous, as country people say," she replied, a little brusquely. "You look as if Dapple might run over you now." "A kitten might run over me," she replied briefly, still keeping her eyes on the children. By and by she asked, "Why do you look at me so intently, Mr. Morton?" "I beg your pardon." "That's not answering my question." "Suppose I deny that I was looking at you. You have not condescended to glance at me yet." "You had better not deny it." "Well, then, to tell you the truth, as I find I always must, I was looking for some trace of mercy. I was thinking whether I could venture to ask forgiveness for being more of a brute than Dapple yesterday." "Have your words troubled you very much?" "They have indeed." "Well, they've troubled me too. You think I'm heartless, Mr. Morton;" and she arose and went to her piano. I followed her instantly. "Won't you forgive me?" I asked; "I've repented." "Oh, nonsense, Mr. Morton. You know as well as I do that I'm the one to ask forgiveness." "No, I don't," I said, in a low, passionate tone. "I fear you are grieving about what you can't help." "Can't help?" she repeated, flushing. "Yes, my being here makes you unhappy. If I knew it, I'd go to-night." "And you think that out of sight would be out of mind," she said, with a strange smile. "Great God! I don't know what to think. I know that I would do anything under heaven to make you look as you did the first night I saw you." "Do I look so badly?" "You look as if you might take wings and leave us at any moment." "Then I wouldn't trouble you any more." "Then my trouble would be without remedy. Marry Mr. Hearn; marry him to-morrow, if you wish. I assure you that if you will be honestly and truly happy, I won't mope a day--I'll become the jolliest old bachelor in New York. I'll do anything within the power of man to make you your old joyous self." Now at last she turned her large, glorious eyes upon me, and their expression was sadness itself; but she only said quietly: "I believe you, Mr. Morton." "Then tell me, what can I do?" "Come to supper;" and she rose and left me. I went to my old seat by the window, and the tumult in my heart was in wide contrast with the quiet summer evening.