nd to the
wants of a lot of people who seemed determined not to let me get away.
Now I'm down here in the midst of all this quiet and peace, with you
before me to look at, and nobody to demand anything of me for at least
twenty-four hours. It's all too good to be true."

"It seems rather odd to me, too," she answered, letting her eyes stray
from his and rest upon the bowl of japonicas of a glowing pink, which
stood in the centre of the table. The candle-light made little starry
points in her dark eyes as she looked at the rich-hued blooms. "The last
person in the world I was expecting to see to-night was you."

"I suppose I was as far from your thoughts as your expectation," he
suggested.

"How should I be thinking of a person who had not written to me for so
long I thought he had forgotten me?" she asked, and then as he broke out
into a delighted laugh at her expense she grew as, pink as her flowers
and seemed to welcome the return of Sam bearing a trayful of Sue's good
things to eat.

Fried chicken and sweet potatoes, beaten biscuit and fragrant coffee,
had a flavour all their own to Burns that night. He ate as a hungry man
should, yet never forgot his companion for a moment or allowed her to
imagine that he forgot her. And by and by the meal was over and the two
rose from the table.

"I must go and see that Auntie is comfortable for the night, if you will
excuse me for half an hour," said the person he had come to see. "Will
you wait in the drawing-room? I will have Sam bring you some late
magazines."

"I'll wait, and no magazines, thank you. I can fill the time somehow,"
he answered. "But don't let it be more than the half-hour, will you?"

He watched her until she disappeared from his sight at the turn of the
staircase landing, then went in to pace up and down the long room, his
left arm folded over his right, after the fashion he had acquired since
the right arm became useless. After what seemed an interminable interval
she came back. He met her at the door.

"Are the duties all done?" he inquired.

"All done for the present. I must look in on Auntie by and by, but I
think she is going to sleep."

"May she sleep the sleep of the just! And there's nothing more you feel
it incumbent upon you to do for me? No more sending me to my room, no
more waiting upon me by Sam, no more feeding me till my capacity is
reached? Is there really no notion in your mind as to how you can put
off the coming hour?"

His