back upon her pillows and again shut her eyes.

Could it be possible that she, a healthy little girl, was growing
fidgety, like Aunt Sally Benton, who sometimes came to visit her son and
help with the sewing? For she surely was hearing things. Movements,
hushed footfalls, softly closing doors, creaking floors, at an hour when
all the household should be at rest.

"How silly! It may be somebody is ill! Wun Lung's hand may hurt him,
though it seemed so nearly well, and nobody else would have minded it.
That stranger! Yes, I fancy it's he. He may need something that I can
get him, and I'll go inquire."

Slipping a little wrapper over her gown, but in her bare feet, the girl
noiselessly left the room and followed the sound she had heard. These
led her to a small apartment which her father had used as an office and
where stood the desk in whose secret drawer she had expected to find
the title deed. A small fireproof safe was in this office. It was an
old-fashioned affair, with a simple, but heavy key, which the Sobrante
children had played with in their infancy. She remembered her father
remarking, with a laugh, that a safe was the most useless thing he
possessed, for he never had anything worth putting in it; but it had
been a belonging of old "Forty-niner" Marsh, a gift to his employer,
and therefore accorded a place of honor.

Before this safe now bent a man whom Jessica recognized with surprise
and relief.

"Why, Mr. Marsh! Is it you? What in the world are you doing here at this
hour? Are you ill? Do you want something?"

"No, dearie. I'm not ill; and I'm not robbing you. And I've got all
I want. That's one more look at your bonny face, God bless it!"

It was close to his shoulder now, that face he loved, and he kissed it
tenderly; though with equal tenderness, if less emotion, the little maid
returned his caress and clasped his neck with those strong, young arms
that so yearned to protect and comfort everybody.

"That's funny. Should think you'd be tired of it, sometimes, I
disappoint you so. But never mind. I'm getting handier with my new
rifle every day, I think, and I mean to do yet what Samson claims I
should--just beat the world. Have you finished looking at your things?"
For it was Mr. Marsh himself who had always used the safe, even after
giving it away. "Can't I get you something to eat, so you can sleep
better?"

"No, dearie, no, just one more good kiss--to remember. Good-by. Good-by.
It--it might h