“There is certainly some mystery about this girl,” said Dr. Hunt to himself. “She was never intended for a nurse in a common hospital, in spite of her peculiar adaptation to such work; there is some peculiar reason for her being here, or I am greatly mistaken. I’d wager a round sum that she belongs, or has belonged, to some wealthy and aristocratic family.” “What a perfectly lovely girl!” was Dr. Winthrop’s mental observation, as he went forward and bent over and clasped Salome’s white hand, a thrill of reverence and gratitude stirring his heart. She raised her eyes to his as she greeted him, and looking into those deep blue orbs, so kind, so frank, so genial, she read there something of the man’s nobility of soul, something of his grand and lofty character, and a feeling of exultation took possession of her. “My blood flows in his veins—my life mingles with his! I have saved this man from death!” was the glad thought that leaped to her brain, sending a deeper flush to her cheeks, a brighter light into her expressive eyes. Was there some peculiar magnetism in the mutual clasp of their hands? There might or might not have been—no one can tell; but the fact remains that during that brief interval, in that simple touch, in that one swift glance, soul met soul, heart spoke to heart, and each was conscious that a vital change had suddenly come over their lives; that the hitherto quiet and undisturbed pool in the depths of their nature had been agitated by some unseen spirit, and the ripples widening into ever-increasing circles would influence all their future. Was it the magnetism—the spirit of love? All this was concentrated into a moment of time; the next Salome’s eyes drooped beneath the earnest, admiring look of her companion, and the color mounted to her temples. The young man noticed her embarrassment and gently released her hand, which he found himself holding in a closer clasp than was warrantable in a total stranger. “Miss Howland,” he said, in tones that trembled with emotion, “I am deeply moved by this meeting and all the thoughts it arouses, and I find myself tongue-tied before you, when I should be eloquent from gratitude and admiration.” “Pray, do not magnify a simple duty,” Salome began, lifting an appealing glance to him. “A simple duty!” he repeated, interrupting her. “It was a priceless gift that you bestowed upon me—I feel it a debt that I can never repay.” “Do not say that,” she returned, looking slightly troubled. Then she added with a smile and a glance that made his heart leap, “a free gift can never become a debt, so please do not be longer burdened, Dr. Winthrop.”