Inez had passed a fairly good night, and was very anxious to see Roy. Fanny had brushed her hair and put on her one of her own pink and white dressing jackets, which brought out the beauty of her face, notwithstanding her hollow eyes and sunken cheeks. “She looks like a picture,” Fanny thought, as she led Roy to the side of the bed. No introduction was needed and none was given. Inez’s hand was lifted slowly to Roy, who took and held it in both his own. He knew the great black eyes, which looked blacker from contrast with the pallor of her face, were studying him closely, but he had nothing to conceal and met her scrutiny unflinchingly. “Roy,” she said. “I am so glad for Fanny that you are her Roy, and glad you are here.” He could not say he was altogether glad to be there except to be with Fanny, but he told her how sorry he was to find her so ill and that he hoped she would soon be better. He knew they were idle words, for death was written on every lineament of her face, but he must say something. Inez shook her head, but did not reply, and Roy, thinking to please and interest her, said, “I am going to drive with Mr. Hardy, who has kindly offered to show me the beauties of the valley.” At the mention of Tom Inez closed her eyes as if to shut out a painful sight. “Tired? Ar’n’t you?” Fanny said, motioning Roy to leave, which he did, willingly. Sick rooms were not to his taste; he was happier with Tom, who proved a most agreeable companion, and talked so well and so intelligently on every subject and seemed imbued with so good principles that Roy mentally asked pardon again for having distrusted him. Of the hold-ups Tom did not like to talk, and said so. “The last was fraught with so much disaster to Inez that I never think of it without a shudder,” he said, while of the first, in which he had been the hero, he made light, saying people had magnified what he did, and praised him too much. “I don’t believe it was courage. I was mad,” he said, “and flew at the man without thinking what the consequence might be to me. I hope we are done with the rascals and tourists can hereafter visit the valley in peace.” Then he began to talk of the east and of Ridgefield and to relate anecdotes of his boyhood and his experience with Uncle Zach and Dotty. Mark, too, came in for a share in the conversation. And here Tom was very eloquent. “Seeing him now, broken with hard work and crushed with anxiety for Inez, you can have no idea of the grand man he was when he lived in Ridgefield. Everybody respected him, and under right influences he would have staid what he was. No man will stand being nagged continually and twitted with his birth and poverty. I beg your pardon,” he added, as he saw Roy scowl, and remembered that he had been making insinuations against his mother-in-law elect; “I mean no disrespect to Mrs. Prescott. She was proud and beautiful, and greatly admired, and not always on the square. Her daughter is not at all like her.”