And yet, in making her toilet that afternoon, she had arranged every part of her dress with direct reference to the “mere boy,” her heart beating faster every time she remembered the white sunbonnet and the Scotch plaid shawl she had seen beside him in the drive that morning. Little Maddy Clyde would hardly have credited the story had she been told that the beautiful lady from Aikenside was positively jealous of Dr. Holbrook’s attentions to herself; yet so it was, and the jealousy was all the more bitter when she remembered who Madeline was, and how startled that aged couple of the red cottage would be, could they know who she was. But they did not; she was quite sure of that; and so she had ventured to pass their door, her heart throbbing with a strange sensation as the old waymarks came in view, waymarks which she remembered so well, and around which so many sad memories were clustering. Agnes was not all bad. Indeed, she was scarcely worse than most vain, selfish fashionable women; and all that day, since her return from riding, haunting, remorseful thoughts of the long ago had been clinging to her, making her more anxious to leave that neighborhood for a time at least, and in scenes of gayety forget, if possible, that such things as broken vows or broken hearts existed. The arrival of the doctor dissipated her sadness in a measure, and after greeting him with her usual expressions of welcome, she said, half playfully, half spitefully: “By the way, doctor, who was that old lady, all bent up double in shawls and things, whom you were taking out for an airing?” Guy looked up quickly, wondering where Agnes could have seen the doctor, who, conscious of a sudden pang, answered, naturally: “That old lady, bent double and bundled in shawls, was young Maddy Clyde, to whom I thought a short ride might do good.” “Oh, yes; that patient about whom Jessie has gone mad. I am glad to have seen her.” There was unmistakable irony in her voice now, and turning from her to Guy, the doctor continued: “The old man was telling me to-day of your kindness in saving his house from being sold. It was like you, Guy; and I wish I, too, had the means to be generous, for they are so very poor.” “I’ll tell you,” said Jessie, who had stolen to the doctor’s side, and lain her fat, bare arm upon his shoulder, as if he had been Guy. “You might give Maddy the doctor’s bill. I remember how mamma cried, and said she never could pay papa’s bill when it was sent in.” “Jessie!” said Agnes and Guy, simultaneously, while the doctor laughingly pulled one of her long, bright curls. “Yes, I could do that. I’d thought of it, but they might not accept it, as they are proud as well as poor.” “Mr. Markham has no one to care for but his wife and this Madeline, has he?” Agnes asked, and the doctor replied: