“I dared not look any other way,” he answered faintly; “I was so afraid of alarming Miss Ruth.” Then after a pause in which the smile and the gleam flickered over his pain-tortured face, he added in a more determined voice: “I am glad I went, though the doctor was furious. He says it was the worst thing I could have done--and thought I ought to have had sense enough to--But don't let's talk any more about it, Miss Felicia. It was so good of you to come. Mr. Grayson has just left. You'd think he was a woman, he is so gentle and tender. But I'll be around in a day or two, and as soon as I can get on my feet and look less like a scarecrow than I do, I am coming over to see you and Miss Ruth and--yes, and UNCLE PETER--” Miss Felicia arched her eyebrows: “Oh, you needn't look!--that's what I am going to call him after this; we settled all that last night.” A smile overspread Miss Felicia's face. “Uncle Peter, is it? And I suppose you will be calling me Aunt Felicia next?” Jack turned his eyes: “That was just what I was trying to screw up my courage to do. Please let me, won't you?” Again Miss Felicia lifted her eyebrows, but she did not say she would. “And Ruth--what do you intend to call that young lady? Of course, without her permission, as that seems to be the fashion.” And the old lady's eyes danced in restrained merriment. The sufferer's face became suddenly grave; for an instant he did not answer, then he said slowly: “But what can I call her except Miss Ruth?” Miss Felicia laughed. Nothing was so delicious as a love affair which she could see into. This boy's heart was an open book. Besides, this kind of talk would take his mind from his miseries. “Oh, but I am not so sure of that,” she rejoined, in an encouraging tone. A light broke out in Jack's eyes: “You mean that she WOULD let me call her--call her Ruth?” “I don't mean anything of the kind, you foolish fellow. You have got to ask her yourself; but there's no telling what she would not do for you now, she's so grateful to you for saving her father's life.” “But I did not,” he exclaimed, an expression as of acute pain crossing his brows. “I only helped him along. But she must not be grateful. I don't like the word. Gratitude hasn't got anything to do with--” he did not finish the sentence. “But you DID save his life, and you know it, and I just love you for it,” she insisted, ignoring his criticism as she again smoothed his hand. “You did a fine, noble act, and I am proud of you and I came to tell you so.” Then she added suddenly: “You received my message last night, didn't you? Now, don't tell me that that good-for-nothing Peter forgot it.” “No, he gave it to me, and it was so kind of you.” “Well, then I forgive him. And now,” here she made a little salaam with both her hands--“now you have Ruth's message.” “I have what?” he asked in astonishment. “Ruth's message.” She still kept her face straight although her lips quivered with merriment.