"No,--unless it was here." She was trembling now. "Please be patient, Mr.--Mr. Hayne. Sam may be a minute or two yet, and here you are out of the wind." Again she looked in his face. He was listening eagerly to her words, as though striving to "place" her voice. _Could_ she be mistaken? Was he, too, not trembling? Beyond all doubt his lips were quivering now. "May I not know who it is that led me here?" he asked, gently. She hesitated, hardly knowing how to tell him. "Try and guess," she laughed, nervously. "But you couldn't. You do not know my name. It is my good fortune, Mr. Hayne. You--you saved my kitten; I--your cap." There was no mistaking his start. Beyond doubt he had winced as though stung, and was now striving to grope his way to the railing. She divined his purpose in an instant, and her slender hand was laid pleadingly yet firmly on his arm. "Mr. Hayne, don't go. Don't think of going. Stay here until Sam comes. He's coming now," she faltered. "Is this Captain Rayner's house?" he asked, hoarse and low. "No matter whose it is! I welcome you here. You shall not go," she cried, impulsively, and both little hands were tagging at his arm. He had found the railing, and was pulling himself towards the gate, but her words, her clinging hands, were too persuasive. "I cannot realize this," he said. "I do not understand--" "Do not try to understand it, Mr. Hayne. If I am only a girl, I have a right to think for myself. My father was a soldier,--I am Nellie Travers,--and if he were alive I know well he would have had me do just what I have done this night. Now won't you stay?" And light was beaming in through his darkened eyes and gladdening his soul with a rapture he had not known for years. One instant he seized and clasped her hand. "May God bless you!" was all he whispered, but so softly that even she did not hear him. He bowed low over the slender white hand, and stayed. VIII.