When Edith awoke it was dark, and she started up in dismay, for she had meant to sleep but an hour or two. Having hastily smoothed her hair, she went to the sick-room, and found Laura reclining on the sofa, and talking in the most friendly manner to Mrs. Lacey. Her mother's delirium continued, though it was more quiet, with snatches of sleep intervening, but she noticed no one as yet. Mrs. Lacey sat calmly in her chair, her sad, patient face making the very ideal of a watcher, and yet in spite of her plain exterior there was a refinement, an air of self-respect, that would impress the most casual observer. As soon as Laura saw Edith she rose as quickly as her feebleness permitted, and threw her arms around her sister, and there was an embrace whose warmth and meaning none but themselves, and the pitying eye of Him who saved, could understand. Then Edith turned and said, earnestly: "Truly, Mrs. Lacey, I did not intend to trespass on your kindness in this manner. I hope you will forgive me." "Nature knew what was best for you, Miss Allen, and have not incommoded me at all. I made my plans to stay till nine o'clock, and then Arden will come for me." "Miss Edie," said Hannibal, in his loud whisper, "I'se got some supper for you down here." Why did Edith go to her room and make a little better toilet before going down? She hardly thought herself. It was probably a feminine instinct. As she took her last sip of tea there was a timid knock at the door. "I will see him a moment," she decided. Hannibal, with a gravity that made poor Edith smile in her thoughts, admitted Arden Lacey. He was diffident but not awkward, and the color deepened in his face, then left it very pale, as he saw Edith was present. Her pale cheek also took the faintest tinge of pink, but she rose quietly, and said: "Please be seated, Mr. Lacey. I will tell your mother you are here." Then, as Hannibal disappeared, she added earnestly, "I do appreciate your mother's kindness, and--yours also. At the same time, too deep a sense of obligation is painful; you must not do so much for us. Please do not misunderstand me." Arden had something of his mother's quiet dignity, as he rose and held out to Edith a letter, saying: "Will you please read that--you need not answer it--and then perhaps you will understand me better." Edith hesitated, and was reluctant. "I may be doing wrong," continued he, earnestly and with rising color. "I am not versed in the world's ways; but is it not my right to explain the rash words I uttered this morning? My good name is dear to me also. Few care for it, but I would not have it utterly blurred in your eyes. We may be strangers after you have read it, if you choose, but I entreat you to read it." "You will not feel hurt if I afterward return it to you?" asked Edith, timidly. "You may do with it what you please." She then took the letter, and a moment later Mrs. Lacey appeared, and said: "I will sit up to-morrow night, with your permission."