“No, that you cannot. I—I shall only be too happy in serving you.” “That is my old, dear friend,” cried the young man, looking brightly into her face, which must have struck him as strangely pallid but for the firelight that fell upon it. “Do you know, Georgie, that something in your way of receiving my confidence has almost chilled me?” “Indeed, it is because you cannot read my heart—that is not cold; try it and see.” “I am trying it,” answered Savage, quite unconscious of the cruel truth he spoke. “Last night, as I thought all this over in my room, I said if there is a creature on earth that I can trust, heart and soul, it is Georgiana Halstead.” “And so you can,” cried Georgie, holding out both her trembling hands, which he clasped eagerly. “I am not very strong, and sometimes I have felt pain; but I will be your faithful friend.” “And hers, Georgie?” “Yes, and hers,” answered the young creature, bravely. “Now tell me what more can I do?” “I will, Georgie. This girl, Anna Burns, you know, is very poor. Her father was an artist, and, I think, must have been educated as a gentleman, for his children have received great care; but he died in the army, and left his family helpless, even more destitute than you saw them to-day.” “Dear me,” murmured Georgie, glad of any excuse to weep, “that seems scarcely possible.” “How kind you are; so tender-hearted, so good—do not cry. How you sob! There, there! the worst of this suffering is over now. A little help will make them comfortable.” Georgie buried her face in both hands, and gave way to the grief that had been struggling in her heart till it was almost broken. Savage rose, and bent over her, smoothing her bright hair caressingly with his hand. “Dear, tender-hearted girl,” he said, full of self-reproach: “and I thought her cold, unsympathizing. Georgie, can you forgive me?” “Forgive you! forgive you!” repeated the poor girl, removing her hands, and lifting those deep, troubled eyes to his face. “Oh, yes! I am sure to forgive you; but what a child I have been, crying about troubles that are nothing. Now tell me what it is that I can do for these people. It is a shame that any man who has died fighting for his county should leave suffering to his family.” “But many a soldier’s family have suffered, and will, notwithstanding the people’s gratitude. This is what I desire of you. This family are even now suffering great privation. It is terrible for refined and educated persons to be crowded, as they are, under the roof of a house crowded with low families. You saw how pale they were; what a look of weariness lay even on the faces of the children. They need neat, airy apartments, pure air, wholesome food. All this it would be easy to give; but I cannot do it in my own person.” “Why not?” inquired Georgie, in her innocence. Savage smiled, and began to smooth her hair again.