y
home at night, he stopped at the shanty's door, and summoning the lad
detained him for a few minutes chatting in the odorous evening air. It
was thoroughly in accordance with the impulses of his frank and generous
nature that he should endeavor to win upon him and gain his confidence.
"We are both Deepton men," he would say, "and it is natural that we
should be friends, We are both alone and a long way from home."

But the lad was always timid and slow of speech.

His gratitude showed itself in ways enough, but it rarely took the form
of words. Only, one night as the horse moved away, he laid his hand upon
the bridle and held it a moment, some powerful emotion showing itself
in his face, and lowering his voice until it was almost a whisper.
"Mester," he said, "if theer's ivver owt to be done as is hard an' loike
to bring pain an' danger, yo'll--yo'll not forget me?"

Langley looked down at him with a mingled feeling of warm pity and deep
bewilderment. "Forget you?" he echoed.

The dullness seemed to have dropped away from the commonplace face as if
it had been a veil; the eyes were burning with a hungry pathos and fire
and passion; they were raised to his and held him with the power of an
indescribable anguish. "Dunnot forget as I'm here," the voice growing
sharp and intense, "ready an' eager an' waitin' fur th' toime to come.
Let me do summat or brave summat or suffer summat, for God's sake!"

When the young man rode away it was with a sense of weight and pain
upon him. He was mystified. People were often grateful to him, but their
gratitude was not such as this; this oppressed and disturbed him. It
was suggestive of a mental condition whose existence seemed almost
impossible. What a life this poor fellow must have led since the
simplest kindliness aroused within him such emotion as this! "It is hard
to understand," he murmured; "it is even a little horrible. One fancies
these duller natures do not reach our heights and depths of happiness
and pain, and yet----Cathie, Cathie, my dear," breaking off suddenly
and turning his face upward to the broad free blue of the sky as he
quickened his horse's pace, "let me think of _you_; this hurts me."

But he was drawn nearer to the boy, and did his best to cheer and help
him. His interest in him grew as he saw him oftener, and there was not
only the old interest, but a new one. Something in the lad's face--a
something which had struck him as familiar even at first--began