I cast a troubled glance at her from my pillow, where she sat by my bed sewing on a pair of wrist-bands for some popinjay of the garrison--God knew who he might be!--and, as I regarded her, further and further she seemed to be slipping out of my influence and out of the care which, mentally at least, I had felt it my duty to give to her. She troubled me. She troubled me deeply. Her independence, her sufficiency, her beauty, her sly and pretty mockery of me, all conspired to give me a new concern for her, and I had not experienced the like since Steve Watts kissed her by the lilacs. I had seen her in many phases, but never before in this phase, and I knew not what face to put on such a disturbing situation. * * * * * For a while I lay there frowning and sulky, and spoke not. She tranquilly finished her wrist-bands, went to her chamber, returned with a dozen stocks, all cut out and basted, and picked up one to fit a plain military frill to it. From my window, near where my head rested, I saw a gold sunset between the maple trees and the roofs across the street. Birds sang their evening carols,--robins on every fence post, orioles in the elms, and far away a wood-thrush filled the quiet with his liquid ecstasies. And suddenly it seemed to me horrible and monstrous that this heavenly tranquillity should be shattered by the red blast of war!--that men could actually be planning to devastate this quiet land where already the new harvest promised, tender and green; where cattle grazed in blossoming meadows; where swallows twittered and fowls clucked; where smoke drifted from chimneys and the homely sights and sounds of a peaceful town sweetened the evening silence. Then the thought of my own helplessness went through me like a spear, and I groaned,--not meaning to,--and turned over on my pillow.... And presently felt her hand lightly on my shoulder. "Is it pain?" she asked softly. "No, only the weariness of life," I muttered. She was silent, but presently her hand smoothed back my hair, and passed in a sort of gentle rhythm across my forehead and my hair. "If I lie here long enough," said I bitterly, "I may have to beg a crust of you. So get you to your sewing and see that you earn enough against a beggared cripple's need." "You mock me," she said in a low voice. "Why, no," said I. "If I am to remain crippled my funds will dwindle and go, and one day I shall sit in the sun like any poor old soldier, with palm lifted for alms----" "I beg--I beg you----" she stammered; and her hand closed on my lips as though to stifle the perverse humour. "Would you offer me charity if I remain crippled?" I managed to say. "Hush. You sadden me." "Would you aid me?" I insisted. She drew a long, deep breath but made no answer. "Tell me," I repeated, taking her by the hand, "would you aid me, Penelope Grant?" "Why do you ask?" she protested. "You know I would."