Early the next morning I inquired at her door again. Miss Oliver was better. Her fever had left her, and she wore a more natural look than at any time since I had seen her. But it was not an untroubled one, and it was with difficulty I met her eyes when she asked if they were coming for her that day, and if she could see Miss Althorpe before she left. As she was not yet able to leave her bed I could easily answer her first question, but I knew too little of Mr. Gryce's intentions to be able to reply to the second. But I was easy with this suffering woman, very easy, more easy than I ever supposed I could be with any one so intimately associated with crime. She seemed to accept my explanations as readily as she already had my presence, and I was struck again with surprise as I considered that my name had never aroused in her the least emotion. "Miss Althorpe has been so good to me I should like to thank her; from my despairing heart, I should like to thank her," she said to me as I stood by her side before leaving. "Do you know"--she went on, catching me by the dress as I was turning away--"what kind of a man she is going to marry? She has such a loving heart, and marriage is such a fearful risk." "Fearful?" I repeated. "Is it not fearful? To give one's whole soul to a man and be met by--I must not talk of it; I must not think of it--But is he a good man? Does he love Miss Althorpe? Will she be happy? I have no right to ask, perhaps, but my gratitude towards her is such that I wish her every joy and pleasure." "Miss Althorpe has chosen well," I rejoined. "Mr. Stone is a man in ten thousand." The sigh that answered me went to my heart. "I will pray for her," she murmured; "that will be something to live for." I did not know what reply to make to this. Everything which this girl said and did was so unexpected and so convincing in its sincerity, I felt moved by her even against my better judgment. I pitied her and yet I dared not urge her on to speak, lest I should fail in my task of making her well. I therefore confined myself to a few haphazard expressions of sympathy and encouragement, and left her in the hands of the nurse. Next day Mr. Gryce called. "Your patient is better," said he. "Much better," was my cheerful reply. "This afternoon she will be able to leave the house." "Very good; have her down at half-past three and I will be in front with a carriage." "I dread it," I cried; "but I will have her there." "You are beginning to like her, Miss Butterworth. Take care! You will lose your head if your sympathies become engaged." "It sits pretty firmly on my shoulders yet," I retorted; "and as for sympathies, you are full of them yourself. I saw how you looked at her yesterday." "Bah, _my_ looks!"