Nell slipped away to the privacy of her own room for a moment. Her cheeks were burning, her heart throbbed wildly; she had read Kenneth's impulse in his speaking countenance. "He loves me, he does love me!" she murmured, pacing hurriedly to and fro; "his eyes have said it over and over again, but why does he always force back the words that I can see are sometimes trembling on his very lips, as though it were a sin to speak them? O Kenneth, Kenneth, what, what is this separating wall between us," she cried, leaning her burning brow against the window frame and looking out into the storm and night. A fierce gust of wind sent the sleet with a furious dash against the window pane and she shivered with a sudden cold. The room was fireless, for in those days it was not thought necessary to heat any but the living rooms, and the air was damp and chill. But she could not go down again, not yet; and wrapping herself in a thick shawl, she again paced silently to and fro schooling her heart into calmness. The summons to supper found her so far successful that a slightly heightened color was the only remaining trace of excitement. Dr. Clendenin had accepted an urgent invitation to remain and there was one other guest, a lady friend of Mrs. Lamar, from one of the neighboring settlements. She had been in Chillicothe a day or two and now found herself storm-stayed. They were a cheerful party, enjoying the light and warmth and savory viands all the more for the cold, darkness, and fierce warring of the elements without. Nell seemed the gayest of the gay, full of mirth and jest and brilliant repartee: but she avoided meeting Kenneth's eye, while he saw every look, every movement of hers, and when in passing an empty cup to be refilled, their hands touched, it sent a sudden thrill through both. Kenneth was very weary and could not prevail upon himself to decline a seat for the evening beside the major's warm, hospitable hearth, nor refuse his eyes the privilege of feasting upon Nell's beauty, his ears that of drinking in each low sweet tone of her voice and the silvery sound of her rippling laughter. "Where's your master?" asked Dale, looking into Kenneth's office, where Zeb was luxuriating in front of a blazing, roaring fire, seated in the doctor's arm-chair, hands in pockets, pipe in mouth and heels on the mantelpiece. "Gone to de major's, sah," answered the boy, bringing his feet and the forelegs of the chair to the floor with a loud thump, and removing the pipe, as he turned to look at his interlocutor. "He has, eh? and you're having a good time in his absence?" "Yes, sah, massa doctah neber grudge dat when de work's done." "No, I daresay not," and Dale drew back his head and shut the door.