Her judgment told her that it would be better to deny him the interview, for to see him again would only serve to intensify the sudden and, as she believed, hopeless passion that had taken possession of her. Yet, in opposition to this, a feeling of ecstasy thrilled her at the thought of being again in his presence—his living, conscious presence; of meeting the glance of his eyes—brown, black, or blue, she knew not which; or hearing the tones of his voice and, perchance, feeling the touch of his hand—that hand which, but for her, would now have been cold and rigid in death. “Only for once,” she told herself. Just once she would see him and listen to his voice, and then she would hide the memory of it in the depths of her heart to live upon during all the lonely future which must now lie before her. “Yes, I will see him to-day,” she said to Dr. Hunt, with a little quiver of her delicate lips; “only please ask him not to speak of—gratitude.” “Of course he will speak of gratitude, dear child,” returned the physician. “Pray do not deny him that slight return when you have given him the most precious boon this side of heaven, and at such a sacrifice, too.” Salome flushed again, but of course she could not argue the question further, and Dr. Hunt remarked, as he turned to leave the room: “You may look for a call from my other patient between two and three this afternoon.” All day, after that, the nurse who cared for her wondered if it was simply excitement that caused that delicate sea-shell pink to linger in the cheeks of the fair invalid and her eyes to gleam with a light such as she had never seen in them before. At half-past two there came a tap on Salome’s door, and the next moment Dr. Hunt, followed by Dr. Winthrop, entered the room. The physician led his companion directly to his patient, saying in his frank, hearty fashion: “This, my young friend, is the noble girl who rendered you such valuable service a while ago. Miss Howland, allow me to introduce Dr. Winthrop to you.” A queer little smile wreathed Dr. Hunt’s lips as he performed this ceremony, while his kind eyes rested admiringly upon the fair invalid before him. Hitherto, he had seen Salome in her plain dark dress only, with her nurse’s cap and apron, and he had thought her very attractive in that simple garb; but now she appeared strikingly beautiful, despite her pallor and loss of flesh. In anticipation of the call, the young girl had sent her nurse to her room, to bring a pretty crimson cashmere wrapper, which had lain unused in her trunk ever since her admission to the hospital. It was beautifully made and richly trimmed with quilted satin of the same shade, and there were full ruchings at the throat and wrists of finest Valenciennes lace. The dress was extremely becoming to her complexion, with her dark hair and eyes, and she certainly was a lovely vision, with the delicate flush still on her cheeks and that gleam of light in her eyes.