One night she sat at the head of Paul Linden’s bed after entreating Kate to go once around her aunt’s garden and breathe the sweet spring air. Her face was buried in her hands, and by the deep sighs that shook her frame a portion of that young creature’s misery might be conceived. On the opposite side of the bed sat another, watching her, by the darkened light of the sick room, with a look of deep compassion. He had entered unperceived, and there was a start of surprise as his eyes fell upon the drooped figure. He could never mistake it—he knew the outline of that once loved form—he knew the little hands that were clasped across her knees, and he held his breath least even that should rouse her. Involuntarily he held out his arms, but at a movement from the invalid she sprung to his side, and her companion bent down to raise him as he asked for some water. Minnie held the glass to his lips, and replaced it on the table without raising her eyes to his face, for she thought it was Kenneth; when she turned to seat herself her eyes fell upon the figure of him she loved! The blood forsook her cheeks, and with a low smothered cry she covered her face once more. When she looked again he was still there, and his hand was held out beseechingly toward her. Slowly she gave him hers, it was no bond of renewed faith, she thought merely that he offered her forgiveness, and he seemed now further from her than ever, as she remembered this and looked at the wounded man upon the bed. Sick at heart she sunk back upon her chair and buried her head in the clothes. The silence around them was painful now in the extreme, and Paul’s heavy breathing fell like a reproach upon her tortured heart. Years seemed to pass, and when Blanche came in to take her place, she breathed a prayer of thankfulness for the relief a change afforded. She hurried from the room out into the garden to give vent to her wretchedness. She had then seen him again—seen him, she resolved for the last time. She had suffered too much for the last half hour to dare it again, and she dwelt upon the remembrance of his loved features as if to impress them more deeply yet upon her heart. Alas! how wildly she clung to him, now that she had bid him a last farewell! how intense grew the love she had lavished upon him with a woman’s bounty! She returned no more that night to her brother’s chamber, for she knew who watched beside him, but the lowly vigil she kept within her own was an eternity of grief. Toward daylight Lisa entered with a face of joy. Clasping Minnie in her arms, she burst into tears as she spoke. “Minnie, my poor child! he is saved! saved at last!”