Such thoughts as these had been busy in her brain ever since he had come so opportunely to her aid, and now she suddenly resolved to make the most of her opportunity. “O Dr. Winthrop, must you go to-morrow? Is it absolutely necessary?” she cried appealingly, while she glanced anxiously toward the room where her mother lay. It was not absolutely necessary; his time was his own, and he had intended to stay longer in Paris before his meeting with her. He flushed slightly with the consciousness of this, and evaded a direct reply. “I had arranged to leave for Italy in the morning,” he said. “I am very sorry,” Miss Rochester returned, with a slight tremor in her voice; “because, although you are a stranger to us, the fact that you are one of our countrymen makes me have more confidence in you than I could have in a native surgeon, however skilful he might be.” She was very beautiful. She had exchanged her street dress, which had been torn and soiled in the overturning of the carriage, for a white cashmere tea-gown, that was simply trimmed with black watered ribbons, and was very becoming to her, while the appealing expression in her glance and that pathetic little quiver in her tone touched the young physician to the heart. “It is not as if we had papa to depend upon now,” she added, with a sigh, and then suddenly stopped. Dr. Winthrop started, and glanced sharply over her black and white dress, a sudden light breaking upon him. “Do you mean——” he began, interpreting her emotions rightly. “Yes, that papa died in Berlin last fall; of course you did not hear of it,” she said, remembering the letter received that morning. “No,” and instantly his mind also reverted to the epistle that he had written to Mr. Rochester. “I am surprised; I had heard nothing of it. It was very sudden, was it not?” “Yes, and it left mamma and me quite dependent upon ourselves. So it seemed almost like a special providence to me when you appeared this evening to help us in our trouble. Perhaps, however,” she added, with another sigh, as if she was trying to be resigned to what she could not help, “you may know of some surgeon whom you could recommend to us—some one whom you know to be reliable. Mamma is quite delicate, and I should not like to trust her with one who was not both skilful and conscientious.” How tenderly she spoke of Mrs. Rochester, and Dr. Winthrop, knowing that the lady was Mr. Rochester’s second wife, and consequently Sadie’s step-mother, was impressed by this apparent goodness of heart. Why should he not remain and do what he could for these two lonely women? He might at least postpone his departure for a few days, or until he could be sure that Mrs. Rochester had suffered no internal injury; then after her arm began to knit she would not need very close attention, and he could be spared. “I will stay,” he said gently, “at least until Mrs. Rochester recovers somewhat from the shock of her accident.”