There was a new undertone of tenderness in her voice--innocent tenderness that openly avowed itself. The reviving influences of the life at the Home had done much--and had much yet left to do. Her wasted face and figure were filling out, her cheeks and lips were regaining their lovely natural colour, as Amelius had seen in his dream. But her eyes, in repose, still resumed their vacantly patient look; and her manner, with a perceptible increase of composure and confidence, had not lost its quaint childish charm. Her growth from girl to woman was a growth of fine gradations, guided by the unerring deliberation of Nature and Time. “Do you think they will follow you here, from the Home?” Amelius asked. She looked at the clock. “I don’t think so,” she said quietly. “It’s hours since I slipped out by the back door. They have very strict rules about runaway girls--even when their friends bring them back. If _you_ send me back--” she stopped, and looked thoughtfully into the fire. “What will you do, if I send you back?” “What one of our girls did, before they took her in at the Home. She jumped into the river. ‘Made a hole in the water’; that’s how she calls it. She’s a big strong girl; and they got her out, and saved her. She says it wasn’t painful, till they brought her to again. I’m little and weak--I don’t think they could bring _me_ to life, if they tried.” Amelius made a futile attempt to reason with her. He even got so far as to tell her that she had done very wrong to leave the Home. Sally’s answer set all further expostulation at defiance. Instead of attempting to defend herself, she sighed wearily, and said, “I had no money; I walked all the way here.” The well-intended remonstrances of Amelius were lost in compassionate surprise. “You poor little soul!” he exclaimed, “it must be seven or eight miles at least!” “I dare say,” said Sally. “It don’t matter, now I’ve found you.” “But how did you find me? Who told you where I lived?” She smiled, and took from her bosom the photograph of the cottage. “But Mrs. Payson cut off the address!” cried Amelius, bursting out with the truth in the impulse of the moment. Sally turned over the photograph, and pointed to the back of the card, on which the photographer’s name and address were printed. “Mrs. Payson didn’t think of this,” she said shyly. “Did _you_ think of it?” Amelius asked.