feeling before unknown. She
forgot her pride and her fears and her disappointments. She
remembered only that this strong man lay there at death's door
because he had resented an insult to her. The past with all its
bitterness rolled away and was lost, and in its place welled up a
tide of forgiveness strong and sweet and hopeful. Her love, like a
fire that had been choked and smothered, smouldering but never
extinct, and which blazes up with the first breeze, warmed and
quickened to life with the touch of her hand on his forehead.

An hour passed. Betty was now at her ease and happier than she had
been for months. Her patient continued to sleep peacefully and
dreamlessly. With a feeling of womanly curiosity Betty looked around
the room. Over the rude mantelpiece were hung a sword, a brace of
pistols, and two pictures. These last interested Betty very much.
They were portraits; one of them was a likeness of a sweet-faced
woman who Betty instinctively knew was his mother. Her eyes lingered
tenderly on that face, so like the one lying on the pillow. The
other portrait was of a beautiful girl whose dark, magnetic eyes
challenged Betty. Was this his sister or--someone else? She could
not restrain a jealous twinge, and she felt annoyed to find herself
comparing that face with her own. She looked no longer at that
portrait, but recommenced her survey of the room. Upon the door hung
a broad-brimmed hat with eagle plumes stuck in the band. A pair of
hightopped riding-boots, a saddle, and a bridle lay on the floor in
the corner. The table was covered with Indian pipes, tobacco
pouches, spurs, silk stocks, and other articles.

Suddenly Betty felt that some one was watching her. She turned
timidly toward the bed and became much frightened when she
encountered the intense gaze from a pair of steel-blue eyes. She
almost fell from the chair; but presently she recollected that
Alfred had been unconscious for days, and that he would not know who
was watching by his bedside.

"Mother, is that you?" asked Alfred, in a weak, low voice.

"Yes, I am here," answered Betty, remembering the old woman's words
about soothing the sufferer.

"But I thought you were ill."

"I was, but I am better now, and it is you who are ill."

"My head hurts so."

"Let me bathe it for you."

"How long have I been home?"

Betty bathed and cooled his heated brow. He caught and held her
hands, looking wonderingly at her the while.

"Mother, somehow I