"Wasted?" echoed Helmsley, gently--"Do you think love is ever wasted?" Her eyes grew serious and dreamy. "Sometimes I do, and sometimes I don't"--she answered--"When I begin to like a person very much I often pull myself back and say 'Take care! Perhaps he doesn't like _you!_'" "Oh! The person must be a 'he' then!" said Helmsley, smiling a little. She coloured. "Oh no--not exactly!--but I mean,--now, for instance,"--and she spoke rapidly as though to cover some deeper feeling--"I like _you_ very much--indeed I'm fond of you, David!--I've got to know you so well, and to understand all your ways--but I can't be sure that you like _me_ as much as I like _you_, can I?" He looked at her kind and noble face with eyes full of tenderness and gratitude. "If you can be sure of anything, you can be sure of that!"--he said--"To say I 'like' you would be a poor way of expressing myself. I owe my very life to you--and though I am only an old poor man, I would say I loved you if I dared!" She smiled--and her whole face shone with the reflected sunshine of her soul. "Say it, David dear! Do say it! I should like to hear it!" He drew the hand he held to his lips, and gently kissed it. "I love you, Mary!" he said--"As a father loves a daughter I love you, and bless you! You have been a good angel to me--and I only wish I were not so old and weak and dependent on your care. I can do nothing to show my affection for you--I'm only a burden upon your hands----" She laid her fingers lightly across his lips. "Sh-sh!" she said--"That's foolish talk, and I won't listen to it! I'm glad you're fond of me--it makes life so much pleasanter. Do you know, I sometimes think God must have sent you to me?" "Do you? Why?" "Well, I used to fret a little at being so much alone,--the days seemed so long, and it was hard to have to work only for one's wretched self, and see nothing in the future but just the same old round--and I missed my father always. I never could get accustomed to his empty chair. Then when I found you on the hills, lost and solitary, and ill, and brought you home to nurse and take care of, all the vacancy seemed filled--and I was quite glad to have some one to work for. I've been ever so much happier since you've been with me. We'll be like father and daughter to the end, won't we?" She put one arm about him coaxingly. He did not answer. "You won't go away from me now,--will you, David?" she urged--"Even when you've paid me back all you owe me as you wish by your own earnings, you won't go away?" He lifted his head and looked at her as she bent over him. "You mustn't ask me to promise anything,"--he said, "I will stay with you--as long as I can!" She withdrew her arm from about him, and stood for a moment irresolute. "Well--I shall be very miserable if you do go,"--she said--"And I'm sure no one will take more care of you than I will!"