All of Miss Hansford’s acquaintances soon knew of the girl, who had come so far and was lying unconscious and helpless, and everybody was kind, especially the Ralstons. Two or three times a day Paul came to inquire how she was, bringing fruit and flowers and asking if there was anything he could do. Prayers were offered for her in the Tabernacle and the Methodist church and the Episcopal. The last was at Paul’s request, and his Amen was so fervent and loud that Clarice, who was sitting at some distance from him, heard it distinctly above the others, and shrugged her shoulders impatiently. “Who was the person prayed for this morning? Some of your relations?” she asked Paul, as they were leaving the church together. “Why, Miss Hansford,” he replied, in some surprise. “Miss Hansford!” she repeated. “She must have been taken suddenly. I saw her on the street last night.” “I mean Elithe, her niece. Don’t you know she has been very ill ever since she reached here. I have certainly mentioned it to you,” Paul said. Clarice did know perfectly well of Elithe’s illness, and how often Paul was at the cottage, and of the fruit and flowers sent there daily, and was exceedingly annoyed. She would scorn to acknowledge it, but she was jealous of Elithe and angry with Paul for his interest in her and his democratic ideas generally. It would be her first duty to change some of them when she was his wife, but for the present she contented herself with occasional stings, which he either did not or would not understand. He lunched with her on the Sunday when prayers were said for Elithe, and then sat with her for an hour or two on the piazza, listening to the band and talking as young people will talk when in love with each other. And Paul was very much in love. Clarice’s pride and hauteur, which he could not appreciate, he looked upon as something she would overcome in time. To him she was always gentle and sweet, and, dazzled by the glamour of her beauty, he thought himself the most fortunate of men in having won her. In Elithe he felt a great interest, and after leaving Clarice that Sunday afternoon, he went to Miss Hansford’s cottage to inquire for her. “Better since I sent the doctors adrift. Come up and see for yourself. She won’t know you,” Miss Hansford continued, as Paul hesitated. “She lies just the same, but seems to me there’s a change.” The room was partly in shadow, but Paul could see the face upon the pillow, thinner and whiter than when he last saw it, but exceedingly lovely, with a faint flush where the fever stains had been and the damp rings of hair about the forehead. Her hands were folded and she seemed to be sleeping quietly. “Poor little girl! She’s had a hard time,” Paul said aloud, as he stood looking at her. At the sound of his voice her eyes opened suddenly, and rested upon him, with a questioning look in them. “The lemonade was so good. I wish I had some more. I am very thirsty,” she said.