What could he mean? Had he recognized her love, and, not being able to return it fully, did he thus avoid her and hasten through his visit? The bare thought crimsoned her cheek. But she felt that this could not be true. She knew he had loved her, and he could not have changed so soon. It was more probable that he believed her to be totally unfit to share in his sacred work,--that he feared she would be a hindrance,--and, therefore, he was shunning, and seeking to escape from one who might dim the lustre of his spiritual life and work. In some respects she had grown very humble of late, and feared that he might be correct, and that she was indeed utterly unfit to share in his high calling. "But if he only knew how hard I would try!" she said, with a touch of pathos in her tone which would have settled matters if he had heard it. That he was sacrificing himself rather than ask her to share in his life's privation, did not occur to her. Restless and unhappy, she wandered into the dining-room, where she found Mr. Dimmerly standing on the hearth-rug, and staring at the fire in a fit of the deepest abstraction. Lottie was so depressed as to feel that even a little comfort from him would be welcome; so she stole to his side and took his arm. He stroked her head with a gentleness quite unusual with him. Finally he said, in a voice that he meant to be very harsh and matter of fact, "Hasn't that nephew of mine got home yet? I feel as if I could break his head." "And I feel," said Lottie, hiding her face on his shoulder, "as if he would break my heart, and you are the only one in the house who understands me or cares." "Well, well," said the old gentleman, after a little, "others have been meddling; I think I will meddle a little." Lottie started up in a way that surprised him, and with eyes flashing through her tears said, "Not a word to him, as you value my love." "Hold on," said the little man, half breathlessly. "What's the matter? You go off like a keg of powder." "I wouldn't sue for the hand of a king," said Lottie, heroically. "Bless you, child, he isn't a king. He's only Frank Hemstead, my nephew,--bound to be a forlorn home missionary, he says." "Well, then," she said, drawing a long breath, "if he can't see for himself, let him marry a pious Western giantess, who will go with him for the sake of the cause instead of himself." "In the mean time," suggested Mr. Dimmerly, "we will go back to New York and have a good time as before." This speech brought to the warm-hearted girl another revulsion of feeling, and, again hiding her face on her uncle's shoulder, she sobbed, "I would rather be his slave on a desert island than marry the richest man in New York." "And my wise and prudent sister thought it could be 'stopped,'" chuckled Mr. Dimmerly.