sent
solitude, in his dreary doubts of the future, what would he not give to
feel the dog nestling in his bosom, and the fawn's little rough tongue
licking his hand! His heart ached as he thought of it: a choking
hysterical sensation oppressed his breathing. He tried to rise, and ring
for lights, and rouse his manhood to endure and resist. It was not to be
done. Where was his courage? where was the cheerfulness which had never
failed him at other time? He sank back in the chair, and hid his face in
his hands for shame at his own weakness, and burst out crying.

The touch of soft persuasive fingers suddenly thrilled through him.

His hands were gently drawn away from his face; a familiar voice, sweet
and low, said, "Oh, don't cry!" Dimly through his tears he saw the
well-remembered little figure standing between him and the fire. In his
unendurable loneliness, he had longed for his dog, he had longed for
his fawn. There was the martyred creature from the streets, whom he
had rescued from nameless horror, waiting to be his companion, servant,
friend! There was the child-victim of cold and hunger, still only
feeling her way to womanhood; innocent of all other aspirations, so long
as she might fill the place which had once been occupied by the dog and
the fawn!

Amelius looked at her with a momentary doubt whether he was waking or
sleeping. "Good God!" he cried, "am I dreaming again?"

"No," she said, simply. "You are awake this time. Let me dry your eyes;
I know where you put your handkerchief." She perched on his knee, and
wiped away the tears, and smoothed his hair over his forehead. "I was
frightened to show myself till I heard you crying," she confessed. "Then
I thought, 'Come! he can't be angry with me now'--and I crept out from
behind the curtains there. The old man let me in. I can't live without
seeing you; I've tried till I could try no longer. I owned it to the old
man when he opened the door. I said, 'I only want to look at him; won't
you let me in?' And he says, 'God bless me, here's Eve come already!' I
don't know what he meant--he let me in, that's all I care about. He's a
funny old foreigner. Send him away; I'm to be your servant now. Why
were you crying? I've cried often enough about You. No; that can't be--I
can't expect you to cry about _me;_ I can only expect you to scold me. I
know I'm a bad girl."

She cast one doubtful look at him, and hung her head--waiting to be
scolded. Amelius lost all contro