“Heaven bless you, Miss Howland,” the young man said, leaning toward her, and speaking with evident effort. “I see that you are sensitive upon the subject of my obligation,” he added, “but just let me tell you that henceforth my life will be doubly precious, since something of the life of so noble a woman is mingled with it, and I shall treasure the memory of your lofty deed as the most sacred of all memories. Now tell me that you are really better to-day, for if my strength has been restored at the permanent sacrifice of yours I fear it will be a perpetual burden upon my conscience.” “Yes, I am better,” Salome answered brightly. “Truly, I feel stronger this afternoon. If,” with a shy smile and a saucy little nod at the elder physician “if Dr. Hunt would not make quite such a baby of me, I believe I should get about my duties more quickly.” “Baby, indeed!” retorted the good doctor, “when people have only the pulse of a baby they must be treated accordingly; eh, Winthrop?” He came forward as he spoke and laid his skilled fingers upon her wrist. But it was no baby’s pulse that he counted then! Her blood was rushing at a racehorse speed through her veins, and the man regarded her with a curious glance, while he marvelled at her almost bewildering beauty, heightened as it was by the brilliant flush on her cheeks and the light in her eyes. “I trust that Miss Howland will be patient and allow herself to be properly cared for until she entirely recovers her strength,” Dr. Winthrop gravely remarked, while his glance lingered wistfully upon her face. “We shall have her in a fever if we subject her to too much excitement,” Dr. Hunt remarked, with his fingers still upon her bounding pulse, “so, Winthrop, if you please, we will not prolong our call to-day.” The young physician arose at once. “I hope we have not already taxed your strength too much by this interview, Miss Howland?” he said regretfully. “I shall be in Boston for two or three weeks longer, and, if you will allow me—if I shall not intrude, it would give me pleasure to call upon you again and see for myself how you are. Believe me, I shall not know a moment’s peace until you are entirely recovered.” “You are very kind, Dr. Winthrop,” Salome responded, with downcast eyes and a rapidly beating heart, “and I shall be glad to see you if you care to come again.” “Thank you,” he heartily returned; then, after a handclasp in farewell, he followed Dr. Hunt from the room. “What an exquisitely beautiful girl!” he exclaimed, as they passed down the long corridor together, “she is an entirely different person from what I imagined from your description of her.” “Hum! I didn’t know she was quite so pretty myself until to-day,” said Dr. Hunt reflectively. “I’ve never seen her in anything but the hospital uniform before—perhaps that’s the reason.” “Is she obliged to make nursing her business?” inquired the younger man.