Conway was not a demonstrative man by any means. His life had been full of self-restraint, and he was, from the very nature of his education, self-contained as well as self-reliant. But there is something in our nature that demands sympathy, and I am afraid that the best of men are generally prone to transfer their loads of care and vexation on to the first pair of sympathetic shoulders that are found available. So the good doctor, thinking, no doubt, that his cherished secret was already discovered, became almost communicative; and though older, stronger, and very much wiser, was only too glad to lean on this girl’s mental strength, and to accept from her the meed of sympathy that she was ready to bestow. “Yes,” he said simply: “it put me out to have that stranger taken to her home. I had almost hoped to bring her to mine,” and he faltered a little. “You think a great deal of her?” said Lettie in a questioning tone. “Yes; a great deal more than I thought I could care for any one.” She had her hands folded over her breast now, still standing behind him. Her color came and went rapidly, and her bosom heaved tumultuously. Still she spoke softly: “You could never care for any one else?” “In the same way? Oh, no,” replied Conway, in the confidence of his first love; “I could never care for any one else.” “Not even if she should not care--if you did not marry her?” asked Lettie, in her repressed tone. “Not even if she were to marry some one else?” “Not even then,” replied Conway; and he laid his head down upon his folded hands as he added softly: “Not while I live.” There was silence now. Conway had felt her hands fluttering over him in a mute caress; but when he lifted his head she was gone. Though it was so late when Conway sought his bed that night, he was up early enough the next morning--so early, in fact, that he had given the little pony his breakfast, and harnessed him ready for the daily rounds, before he was called in for his own morning meal. “I am afraid you will have to prescribe for Lettie, doctor,” said good Mrs. Allan, as he entered the kitchen. “She is quite ill this morning.” “I shall have to order more sleep for her, and less trouble from myself,” replied Conway. “I am afraid I kept her up too late last night. I guess that rest is all she needs.” And he bolted his coffee and cakes as rapidly as possible, and retired to his office. “Dear me!” said Mrs. Allan to herself, after he had left the room, “he has eaten nothing at all. I’m sure he needs looking after as badly as any one. And now with Lettie sick, I’m sure I----Why, Lettie!” she cried in astonishment. “Good lands, child, how you frightened me!” “I am better,” replied Lettie quietly. It had been but a few moments before that her aunt had left her in bed, with every symptom of a high fever, and now she entered the room neatly and prettily clothed, and, with the exception of a slight pallor, apparently as well as ever.