“For picking me out of that horrid black water,” said she, in a whisper. “I have so wanted to see you since; but you know you went away without saying good-by to me or Hilary.” “Do you remember that day, Nest?” said he, walking slowly on, with her in his arms. “Oh, yes! so well; my slipping down, and the bubbling water, and the cold, and the choking feeling here in my throat and head, and such a pain, oh, dear! I dream sometimes now, at night, of the bank, and the gurgle of the waves, and wake with such a start. I did not like to wash my face for some days afterward. But is it not odd, Captain Hepburn?――I can remember nothing about you taking me out. I should not have known you did, if they had not told me so!” “Who told you?” “Papa and the others?” “Hilary?” “No,” replied Nest, gravely; “they will not let me talk to her about it. Sybil told me not; and she never has spoken about it at all, since she has been ill.” “She is well now?” said he, inquiringly. “Better, but not well. She can not walk much. She is in the garden.” “Will she see me, do you think?” said he, stopping at the porch, and setting Nest on one of the benches. “I don’t know,” replied the little girl, gravely. “She has seen nobody but Mr. Paine, for days. She could not see Mr. Huyton, when he came last, though he sent me to ask her; and you know he pulled her out of the water, as you did me. She said she was too ill.” “But she is better now,” said he, earnestly; “perhaps she will not mind me. Is your papa in?” “No, only Hilary, and she is in the garden. I will go and ask her, if you like; or you will come, and she must see you then.” He hardly thought such a surprise desirable, and suggested that Nest should go on first. But Hilary, who had missed her sister, had risen to look for her, and met the child the moment after she turned the corner of the house; so that the gentleman had the opportunity of ascertaining that he might, so far as an abrupt introduction was concerned, almost as well have presented himself at first. “Oh, Hilary! will you see Captain Hepburn?” was her exclamation. “Nest, what do you mean?” he heard in a hurried, fluttered accent, and he was sure she had stopped short in her approach. “Don’t be pale, Hilary――don’t be frightened,” said Nest, coaxingly. “You have not seen him since that horrid day, I know; and when I saw him it made me remember all, and made me feel funny, I do not know how; but it goes off, and now I am only glad.” “But, Nest,” he heard her saying, and there was a catching in her voice, which, to his anxious ear, told of a struggle with excitement and surprise, perhaps of deeper feeling too, “have you seen him?”