"Oh, he’d be a good friend, and one who would help find out who is plotting against Uncle Job, if what Burke said was true," I answered. At this, and strangely enough, I thought of Rathe, but why I do not know, unless because of his efforts to gain the favor of Miss Betty, and so was an enemy of Uncle Job’s. "I don’t suppose Uncle Job and Rathe are very good friends, since they have become rivals?" I asked, determined to learn all I could. "I have never heard your uncle say anything unkind of him. He would be too proud, though, to do that; but Setti says Rathe’s face is anything but friendly when your uncle’s name is mentioned." "Does Rathe live at the Dragon?" "He did until the last few days; but he is away most of the time; indeed, your uncle and he are hardly ever in town together." "Does he know I am here?" "I don’t know; we have never told him." "I hope he doesn’t," I answered, feeling somehow as if it would be better if he did not, and with that the subject was dropped. In this way, and little by little, I regained my strength, and not at the last with any pleasure. For with it I should be parted from Constance, whom I grew every day more to love, not feeling then any more than in after years that such a thing was beyond me and not likely to lead to anything I could wish. For those who are mature in thought and pure of heart ever thus love, years being as naught to them. She was mine and I was hers, and alone in our lives we loved and were in everything as one. *CHAPTER XXXIII* *THE RED ROSE OF CUVIER RIVER* When I was able to be abroad some part of the day, Constance and I loitered at first about the garden beside the house, the plants of which were beginning to turn with the early frost. In the park across the way, where all the roads meet, the hickory and ash were already bare and staring, the limbs of the elm showing black and cold through the scant foliage that yet clung to their extended branches. The oak and willow still held their leaves, but discolored and of bilious hue, as if sick unto death. In pleasing contrast to these, and in rebuke, it seemed, the maples welcomed the frost with pink and red and paling yellow, as if they thought the coming winter a thing to look forward to with delight and not with dread. The first day we ventured into the street we ran across Blott, grooming a horse near the stable door. "Howdy do," he exclaimed, taking off his cap on seeing Constance; "I’m glad to see you out an’ not lookin’ so pale. It’s a fine day for inv’lids, miss, an’ purty for washin’ an’ dryin’ things," he added, looking across the road at the sheets and pillow-cases flapping in the warm air. "How are you, Blott, and the dapple-gray?" I cried, going to her. For it was Uncle Job’s mare, and the one I had ridden to Appletop that morning.