I shall not describe the way which Dr. Clayton took to calm my fright, for all who have passed through a similar experience can imagine it; but the remembrance of that thunder-storm lingered in my memory long after I had forgotten the night when I sat with him in the soft moonlight beneath the old oak tree. When the storm had ceased and the sun was again shining on the tree-tops at the west, he left me, placing on my hand at parting a little gold ring, on which was inscribed, simply, “Rose.” “It was the gift of friendship,” he said—“nothing more;” and he wished me to wear it “for the sake of the few pleasant hours we had spent together.” I suppose it was wrong in me to accept it. I thought so then, but I could not refuse it; and remembering the fate of the one sent by Herbert Langley to Anna, I resolved upon keeping it a secret, and only wearing it when I was alone. For a long time I sat in the deserted schoolroom, while the damp air, which came through the open window, fell upon my uncovered neck and arms, nor was I reminded of the lapse of time until it began to grow dark around me; then hastily throwing on my things, I started for Mr. Randall’s, wetting my feet, for I had no rubbers with me. As the result of this, when I awoke next morning I was conscious of a pain in my head, a soreness in my throat, and an aching of my back, quite as unexpected as it was disagreeable. I had taken a violent cold, and Mrs. Randall, when she saw how pale I was and how faint I appeared, said I must not go to school. George, she said, would go and tell the scholars, and I must stay there until my father came for me at night, as had been arranged the week before. To this plan I finally yielded, and all the day long I hovered over the fire, which, in the little sitting-room, was kindled for my comfort. At night, when my father came for me, I was almost too weak to stand alone; but the excitement of riding imparted to me an artificial strength, which wholly deserted me the moment I reached home, and for many days I kept my bed, attended by _Dr. Clayton_, who accidently heard of my illness, and who came daily to see me. Grandma, who was something of a nurse, proposed several times that he be dismissed, saying he only made me worse, for I was always more feverish and restless after one of his visits! But the doctor, to whom she one day made the suggestion, said he should not leave me until I was well, and when she asked him how he accounted for my rapid pulse and flushed cheeks, whenever he was present, he very gravely replied, that “possibly my _heart_ might be _affected_—the symptoms seemed much like it,” adding, as he saw the look of concern on grandma’s face, “but I think I can cure that, don’t you, Rose?” turning to me, and taking my hand to see _how fast my pulse did beat_! After this, grandma made no further objections to his visits. “If Rose had the heart disease, and he could cure it, he ought to do so!”