So that if the young doctor had returned to them from the dead, the side of the clan that sympathized with the Groves family would have been ready to howl execrations upon his head. Of the keen, bitter pain in his heart at his fate, at the isolation from home and parents, who could tell? He bore it in silence for the sake of the one sweet drop in the bitter cup. In renouncing home and kindred love, in giving up his birthright and his name, there was one compensation that would pay for all--he would be free to woo and win little Eva. Once he had put the past behind him there was no looking backward, no futile regret for what was lost. Of all that the wide world could have offered him he would have chosen bonnie, dark-eyed Eva as the best of all. And fate was going to grant him his heart’s desire. He was not conceited, but he had read aright the blushing cheek, the flashing eyes, the trembling tones. Her young heart had answered to his own. But for Doctor St. Clair’s malicious interference he would have told her his love that day beneath the trees, when he had read her heart by the light of his own. Wearily the day passed in the round of mutual duties that held them apart until evening, when they met at last in the ballroom where the weekly dance for the patients was given. “Will you give me a dance?” the dear voice said suddenly in her ear, as she was watching with casual amusement the gyrations of an insane woman whirling around with a hospital employee, the manager of the ice plant. She started with joy, and looked up at him in a little tremor. “You startled me,” she said, putting out her little hand to meet his, and trembling at his warm, strong clasp. “Did you not know I had come, little Eva?” “Oh, yes; but I did not know you were in the ballroom.” “I came in to look for you. My eyes were aching for the sight of you. Will you dance with me? Or would you prefer to take a stroll outdoors? There is a lovely moon”--eagerly. “I prefer outdoors,” she answered, letting her eyes droop shyly before his ardent, questioning glance. He was leading her out when Doctor St. Clair hurried after them. “Miss Somerville, will you not give me one dance?” She hesitated, recoiling from him in secret repugnance, and he added hastily: “It is obligatory, you know, on the attendants to take part in the dancing for the pleasure of the patients.” “Very well; I will dance when I come back. I am going out now for a breath of fresh air. Excuse me,” and she brushed hastily past him and disappeared with her lover by her side. The doctor stood looking after them with an ominous frown.