“Why, Lettie!” exclaimed Conway, in astonishment. “You still out of bed? Don’t you know, child, that it is after midnight?” “Yes, I know,” replied Lettie quietly. “But I was not sleepy, and you were so late I thought there might have been an accident.” “If you had been asleep, as you should have been, you would not have known that I was late. Do you think me ungrateful?” he hastened to add, perhaps noticing the pallor that overspread her face as he spoke. “I am greatly obliged for your kindness; only you must not neglect yourself. Remember,” he went on, smiling kindly, “folks at your age need plenty of sleep.” “I am not a child,” she retorted sullenly. “A child by no means,” replied Conway, pleasantly. “Quite a young lady, now. Eh, Lettie? and a very pretty one at that. We’ll have no end of lovers soon, I suppose, and then there will be no one to get the doctor’s supper for him and be scolded for thanks.” He had seated himself at the little table with an air of great satisfaction, and she was standing partly behind him, pouring out his tea. “Will you miss me?” she asked presently. “Miss you?” he repeated kindly; “to be sure I will, Lettie.” He leaned back in his chair, and took her hands in his over his shoulders. “I am afraid you think me very thankless,” he said; “but I am not. I do thank you for your kindness, only I have been very busy to-day and a little worried;” and he ended with something very like a sigh. “What is it?” she asked quickly. “There was an accident,” he replied, “or at least I suppose it was an accident. We found a stranger suffering from exposure, and--and,” he concluded, absently, “it rather put me out.” Lettie was standing behind him now, and the look of repression deepened upon her face. “Where did you find him?” she asked. “I? Oh, it was Norine--that is, Miss Bright--who found him,” stammered Conway, flushing. “It was at an old hut on the mountainside,” continued Conway hurriedly, “and she--that is, we--removed him to Bright’s.” “And was it _that_ that put you out?” inquired Lettie intently. “Why, yes. I wanted to bring him to the village.” “_She_ will nurse him,” said the girl, with a sly emphasis on the personal pronoun; “so he is sure of good care.” Conway moved uneasily in his chair. “Oh, he will have good enough care, I suppose,” he said indifferently. “Does it put you out to have her nurse him?” persisted Lettie. There was no answer to this, and she moved around the table for a moment to look into his face, but immediately returned to her old position behind his chair. “You must care a great deal for her,” she said softly. “Who told you that? Why do you think so?” he inquired, quickly facing her. “No one has told me,” replied the girl, with a mingled air of pride and defiance; “but I know you do.”