For the second time in his life, Ervin McArthur was nursed back to health by the gentle hands of the maid of Sunahlee. By day her slim fingers wrought incessantly for his comfort, by night she rested in a rudely made arm chair by his cot. To Captain Dillard and the surgeon the air of order, of complete sufficiency in the rough cabin was a miracle, daily enacted. Was a bandage necessary? Helen produced it. Barley water? Broth? They had merely to announce Ervin’s needs and shortly she would be found administering to them. Often he was restless at night. Tossing uneasily he would mutter—always of Helen. Now he would speak with the old-time winning raillery the girl remembered so well, now seriously of his inventions, astonishing her with references to details which were beyond her understanding. “How little we know of the mental processes of those we love!” she mused. “While I mourned over the infrequency of his letters, he was making me his hourly companion and confidante.” “It is Helen, dearest. Be calm now, and sleep,” she would tenderly adjure him, bringing the burning eyes searching to hers. “It is my little Helen,” he would breathe in relief, and drop into slumber. There were times when his delirium became stormy. Raving, he would denounce her fickleness, her rapacious coquetry and her assumed sympathy. At such times her loving coaxing would fail to soothe him. “False! Fickle! You merely want to add another scalp to your belt! Oh, I could turn savage, too, and bear you away by force and keep you for my own in some wild spot—ah, go away! Go away!” Helen, smoothing back the dark locks, now dry with fever, felt a superstitious fear in the presence of such pronounced delirium. “Ervin, your own Helen is here! You know your own little Helen!” “Heartless girl! I know you at last! I never want to see you again.” * * * * * At last the fever abated, the wound began to heal and one lovely morning the dark eyes looked clearly into the blue ones of his devoted nurse. Repressing her tears of joy, she told him of his illness, leading his mind back to the circumstances of his escape. Then, with gentle insistence, she forced him to close his eyes and, holding her hand, he fell into rational sleep. Then the little maid might have been seen slipping to her knees and weeping, as she poured out her gratitude and joy to the Divine Physician. * * * * * In the evening she sat by his side again and told him all the news the camp knew. He lay quietly regarding her from his pillows. “Helen,” he asked, “how long have you been here?” “To-morrow will be six weeks,” she replied.