The girl smiled through her tears, and nothing more was said until they reached the hospital door. “How is Marsten, who was brought here last night?” inquired Sartwell, of the doctor who received him. “Oh, getting on very well, under the circumstances.” “The papers say his condition is dangerous.” “I don’t anticipate any danger, unless there are internal injuries that we know nothing of. Some of his ribs are broken, and he got a nasty blow on the back of his head. He seems rather weak and dispirited this morning, but his mind is clear. I was somewhat anxious about that, for he was a long time unconscious.” “There,” said Sartwell to his daughter, who stood with parted lips listening intently to what the doctor said. “I told you the papers made the case out worse than it was. Might we see Mr. Marsten?” “Yes; but I wouldn’t make him talk very much, if I were you.” “We shall be very careful. I think, you know, it will cheer him up to see us, but you might ask him if he would rather we came another time. My name is Sartwell.” Word was brought back that Marsten would be glad to see them. They found him in an alcove, curtained off, like other alcoves, from the rest of the ward. His face was not disfigured, but was very pale. He cast one rapid glance at the girl, shrinking back behind her father, then kept his gaze fixed on his old employer. “Well, my boy,” said Sartwell, cheerily, “I’m sorry to see you on your back, but I’m glad to learn from the doctor that you will be all right in a few days.” “Have the men----have they----gone back?” Marsten asked, in a faint whisper. “Don’t bother about the men. I’m looking after them. Yes, they’ve come back.” Marsten tried feebly to lift his head, but it sank back again. “The letter,” he whispered, “what is left of it----is under the pillow, I think.” Sartwell put his hand under the pillow and pulled forth the tattered document. “You intend me to have this?” Marsten, with a faint motion of his head, signified his assent, and Sartwell, with some relief, placed it in his pocket. “Now, my lad, you must hurry up and get well. There will be stirring times at the works, and I shall need the best help I can get. I’m depending on you to be my assistant, you know.” The young man’s eyelids quivered for a moment, then closed over his eyes. Two tears stole out from the corners and rolled down his cheeks. His throat rose and fell. “I’m a bit shattered,” he whispered at last. “I’m not quite myself----but, I thank you.” “That’s all right, my boy. Here’s a young person who can talk to you more like a nurse than I can. I must see about your having a private room and all the comforts of the place while you are here.” Edna took his hand when her father had left the room. Marsten looked up at her, standing there beside him. “It came to the same----in the end----didn’t it?” he said, with a faint, wavering smile. For answer she bent over him and kissed him softly on the lips. THE END.