Norine gave him a drink of some cooling mixture, and sat down by the table with her sewing. The stranger, after many struggles, succeeded in turning himself so he could see her face, and for some time lay silently watching her. At last, catching her eyes when they were raised from her work, he beckoned to her weakly. “What is your name?” he demanded abruptly, when she approached the bed. Norine informed him soothingly, perhaps blushingly. “Norine!” he repeated softly--“Norine! That is an Irish name. But you are not Irish?” Norine shook her head. “I was born in this room,” she said. The stranger stared thoughtfully at her for a moment. “It is a pretty name,” he said. “I like it.” And with that candid, albeit somewhat egotistical declaration, he sank to sleep. CHAPTER IV. LETTIE ALLAN. It was late that night when Doctor Conway drove the little pony into the big barn in the rear of the comfortable dwelling occupied by good, motherly Mrs. Allan, with whom he had “taken board” on his first coming to this little town. It had been a very busy day for the good doctor--so busy that he had not had time as yet to feel the full extent of his disappointment. He was conscious of a dull, aching pain at his heart and of a feeling of impending evil, but this he ascribed to overwork and nervousness, and hastened to give the little pony his usual supper and to shake down his bed of clean, sweet-smelling straw. The doctor had not yet risen to the dignity of maintaining an hostler, and it was some time before this was completed to his satisfaction, and the doctor at liberty to shoulder his saddlebags and trudge wearily into the house. Late as it was, however, his supper was spread on a little round table in front of the kitchen fire, and Lettie--the orphan niece of good Mrs. Allan--stood ready to pour out his tea, and to make the bright, cleanly kitchen still brighter by her presence. She had been cowering before the fire for hours, waiting for him, and would have waited as patiently until morning if need be, simply for the pleasure of waiting on him, and feeling that she was in some degree necessary to his comfort and happiness. And now, hearing him coming, she hastened to throw more wood on the fire, that it might shine a brighter welcome, and sought, by little feminine touches of her hair and dress, to remove any traces of her long waiting, and enhance her appearance in his eyes. She was a handsome girl, and she fully understood that fact; but there was nothing at all coquettish about her little preparations for his coming; instead there was a curious sense of repression about her, as if she endeavored to conceal her passionate nature under a garb of quiet restraint. But the flash of her black eyes, and the sudden flush on her rounded cheeks were hard matters to conceal. Perhaps it was for that reason that she stooped over the fire, with her back to the door, when he entered.