one me good." She lay looking at him with
a smile still in her eyes. "I hope little Dinah is resting," she said.
"She was with me nearly all night. I didn't wish it, Stumpy, but the dear
child wouldn't leave till I was more comfortable."

"She is resting for a little now," he said. "I am so sorry you had a bad
time last night."

"Oh, don't be sorry for me!" she said softly. "My bad times are so nearly
over now. It is a waste of time to talk about them. She sent for you, did
she?"

He bent his head. "She knew I would wish to be sent for. She fancied you
might be wanting me."

"I do want you," she said, and into her wasted face there came a look of
unutterable tenderness. "Oh, Stumpy darling, need you leave me again?"

He was still holding her hand; his fingers closed upon it at her words.

"I think the last part may be--a little steep," she said wistfully. "I
would like to feel that you are near at hand. You have helped me so
often--so often. And then too--there is--my little Dinah. I want you to
help her too."

"God knows I will do my best, dear," he said.

Her fingers returned his pressure. "She has been so much to me--so much
to me," she whispered. "When I came here, I had no hope. But the care of
her, the comforting of her, opened the dungeon-door for me. And now no
Giant Despair will ever hold me captive again. But I am anxious about
her, Stumpy. There is some trouble in the background of which she has
never spoken--of which she can never bear to speak. Have you any idea
what it is?"

He moved with an unwonted touch of restlessness. "I think she worries
about the future," he said.

"That isn't all," Isabel said with conviction. "There is more than that.
It hangs over her like a cloud. It weighs her down."

"She hasn't confided in me," he said.

"Ah! But perhaps she will," Isabel's eyes still dwelt upon him with a
great tenderness. "Stumpy," she murmured under her breath, "forgive me
for asking! I must ask! Stumpy, why don't you win her for yourself, dear?
The way is open. I know--I know you can."

He moved again, moved with a gesture of protest. "You are mistaken,
Isabel," he said. "The way is not open." He spoke wearily. He was looking
straight before him. "If I were to attempt what you suggest," he said
slowly, "I should deprive her of the only friend to whom she can turn
with any confidence besides yourself. She trusts me now implicitly. She
believes my friendship for her to be absolutely simple a