"I? Oh, I have heard it several times! Your sister mentioned Miss Rivers to-day at luncheon." "Show your book, Ella, at all events." She went to a distant table, after a full, searching look at Colonel Wilton, and brought the book he well remembered. "Here is a capital likeness of my pony and my father's pet Skye. But, Ella, you have torn out a page--the first one. Why?" "Because it pleased me to do so." She spoke very composedly, but the color went and came faintly in her cheek. "Do tell me why, Ella?" with sharp, angry entreaty. "I will _not_, Donald! You are tyrannical." His eyes flashed, but he controlled himself. "Is not this capital?" he asked, holding out the book. "Very good--first-rate," returned Wilton, looking at two admirably drawn figures of a pony and dog. "It is better. I want to improve in animals," said Ella, looking down upon the page; and a little conversation ensued respecting this line of art, in which Donald took no share. Suddenly Ella looked at him. "You are ill! you are suffering!" she exclaimed, darting to his side, and putting her arm round his neck, while, pale as death and half fainting, he rested his head against her breast. "Pray bring me that phial and glass from the cabinet," she said, quickly. Wilton obeyed; he held the glass while she poured out the right quantity; he took the bottle again, while she held the glass to the poor boy's lips; he assisted to lower the wonderful chair till the weary head could be gently placed in a restful position, all without a word being exchanged; then Ella took the poor, thin hand in hers, and felt the pulse, and stroked it. Donald opened his eyes. "Ella, I am better; ask him to say nothing about it." "I will, dear Donald, I will."--Then, turning to Wilton, "Come, I will show the way." The moment they crossed the threshold she exclaimed, "It will be better to say nothing about it; Lady Fergusson would only come and make a fuss and torment him, so I troubled you instead of ringing; but I do not apologize. You would willingly help him, I am sure." "Yes, of course; but what a responsibility for you!" "Oh, I understand him, and I often see the doctor. Ah, what a life! what suffering! what a terrible nature! But I must not stay. You, you were prudent--that is--pooh! I am foolish. I mean to say, I am glad you scarcely appeared to know me. I say nothing of myself here; I am an abstraction, a machine, a companion! Good-by." For the first time she held out her hand with a gracious, queenly gesture. Wilton took and held it. "One moment," he said, quickly. "Shall I never have another chance of a word with you in the free air? Is there no errand to Monkscleugh that may lead to a rencontre?" "If I meet you," she said, "I will speak to you; but it is, and must be, a mere chance. Follow that corridor, turn to the left, and you will be in the hall. Good-by." She was gone.