Faith looked down doubtful,--doubtful, whether to do what would please herself, and him, would be just right to-day; but the pleading of the affirmative side of the question was too strong. She gave up considering the prudential side of the measure, thinking that perhaps Mr. Linden knew his own feelings best; and once decided, let pleasure have its full flow. With hardly a shade upon the glad readiness of her movements, she placed the chair and brought the book, and sat docile down, though keeping a jealous watch for any sign of pain or weariness that should warn her to stop. And from one thing to another he led her on, talking less than usual, perhaps, himself, but giving her none the less good a lesson. And the signs she sought for could not be found. Weary he was not, mentally, and physical nature knew its place. Last of all, the little exercise was opened and commented upon and praised--and she praised through it, though very delicately. "Have I tired you?" he said, as the town clock struck an hour past the mid-day. "Oh no!--And you, Mr. Linden?" In what a different tone the two parts of her speech were spoken. "I have not hurt myself," he said smiling. "Perhaps by and by, this afternoon, you will let me see you again. Dr. Harrison threatens to keep me at home for two or three weeks, and I want to make the most of them,--I may not have such a time of leisure again." And then Mr. Linden gave the doctor's message--a message, very strictly, and as near as possible in the doctor's own words, receiving as little tinge as it well could from the medium through which it passed. "The other message," he said, giving her a letter, "you will find there." "A message?"--said Faith doubtfully and flushing with pleasure--"isn't this one of your sister's letters?" "Yes. Mayn't she send you a message?" A very modest and very happy smile and deepening blush answered that; and she ran away with a sudden compunctious remembrance of Mr. Linden's dinner.