too proud ever to
get a twist."

Here was a dilemma--that I should be developing into a wit and Vesty
into a coquette!

"Well," said I, "I must try and straighten myself up again," and with
that endeavor the pain did cut me so cruelly I fainted, quite without
any maiden affectation, back again on to Vesty's arm.

"Try and think," said she, when I could hear her voice, "that I am some
old woman, just trying to take care of you--somebody not disagreeable
to you, and keep still till we get home."

"Very well," said I, tormenting myself with the thought that she was
acting under some compelling sense of obligation; and that should never
be.

So I answered briefly all at once; and no sooner had I spoken than I
endured a gnawing consciousness that I was the hatefullest thing that
had escaped extermination that night. I kept still, however; the pain
was something to dread.

At least I had my beautiful mother's hair, thick and curling; that was
all Vesty could see now there on her shoulder. I comforted myself with
that thought as a child. I was weak, and I let some tears roll down my
face that Vesty could not see.

When the strong fellows took me out of the sleigh and bore me very
gently up to the door they stopped there for a moment, while I
wondered; and if any bitter sense of their physical supremacy pierced
me at that moment it ceased forever, as with a preconcerted signal from
the foremost they lifted the caps from their heads and cheered my name,
thrice and again, and again, with ringing cheers--and Vesty standing by!

The old Basin flag--almost as dilapidated as I--had heard nothing like
it; but when they dressed the swollen arm pain sent me off into
oblivion again. Vesty's was the last face I saw bending over me:

"Do you"--timidly--"do you want me to come to-morrow, and see how you
are?"

"Oh, if you will--thank you! Still, I am all right--I shall be all
right, never fear."

She lingered still a moment, but spoke calmly:

"If you don't care anything about me why did you risk your life to save
me from getting hurt?"

A demon possessed me. Pity I could have endured, but if she were stung
on by that inflicted sense of gratitude?

"Why did you risk your life to save me?"

"Oh, it was _pity_, child," I answered her; the surging bitterness
within made it almost a sneer--"natural human pity: it is strong in all
my race."

She looked at me with a beautiful sorrow, and as though she called me
proud