She praised the diamond’s beauties until even Conover was content. Then she lay back among the pillows and fought movelessly for endurance. Her waning strength, keyed up to its highest pitch for Caleb’s sake, was deserting her. To hide her weakness she began playing with the ring; slipping it from finger to finger until at length the circlet hung loose from her thumb. Caleb watched her slender hand toying with the gift. “It’ll be a mighty short time, now,” said he, “before we fit on a plain gold ring above that! Hey?” At his words the girl, to his dismay, broke into a passion of tears. “There! _There!_” he consoled, passing his arms about the frail tormented body, “Why, what is it, sweetheart? Too much excitement after your accident? I ought to a’ had better sense than to keep you talkin’ like this. Try an’ get some sleep. An’ when you wake up you’ll feel better. Lots better. Don’t cry! It breaks me all up to have you do it. _Don’t_, precious!” “I--I love you so,” panted the girl, “There’s just you in all the world, Caleb! You’ll stay close by me _always_, won’t you? Just as long as I live?” “You bet I will!” he declared, “An’ I’ll never let you out of my sight. I ain’t more’n half myself when you’re away. I need you worse’n you can ever need me, Dey. You’re just the heart of me.” “Don’t take your arms away,” she begged, “They are so strong, so safe. Listen, dear:--I want you to pick me up,--I’m not too heavy, am I?--Pick me up and carry me. I want to be close to you,--closer than I ever was before. You are so big,--so powerful. And--I feel so weak. I’m a little restless; that’s all,” she added hastily, “And it will quiet me to be held.” He gathered her gently to his breast. Her arms clasped his neck; her face was buried in his shoulder to stifle the cry of agony evoked by the movement of lifting. Then, carrying her closely to his heart, Conover began to pace the room, bearing the girl as easily and as lightly as though she were a baby. The tenderness of his caress now held no roughness. The motion and the reliance on his perfect strength quieted her suffering and gave her the sense of utter peace she had known when she fell asleep in his arms on the Adirondack hilltop. “I am _very_ happy!” she sighed, “Do I tire you?” “Not much you don’t, you little bit of a girl!” he laughed, “I could carry you always. An’ I’m goin’ to. Right close in my heart. Say, there was a man out in the other room when I came. A minister. He said a queer thing. Somethin’ ’bout bein’ carried on the ‘strong arm of Christ.’” “I think I know what he meant,” said Desirée, softly. “H’m! Sometime when you’re better I’ll get you to explain it to me. I’d rather talk ’bout you, just now. D’you remember that time I sat by the fire an’ held you like this while you went to sleep?”