even though she ate nothing, and
afterward a great weakness came upon her. "I don't know how I'll ever
get upstairs," she said, frightened; "it seems such a long way!"

Winfield took her in his arms and carried her up, as gently and easily
as if she had been a child. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes bright
when he put her down. "I never thought it would be so easy," she said,
in answer to his question. "You'll stay with me, won't you, Carl? I
don't want you to go away."

"I'll stay as long as you want me, Miss Ainslie, and Ruth will, too. We
couldn't do too much for you."

That night, as they sat in front of the fire, while Miss Ainslie slept
upstairs, Ruth told him what she had said about leaving him the house
and the little income and giving her the beautiful things in the house.

"Bless her sweet heart," he said tenderly, "we don't want her
things--we'd rather have her."

"Indeed we would," she answered quickly.

Until the middle of September she went back and forth from her own room
to the sitting-room with comparative ease. They took turns bringing
dainties to tempt her appetite, but, though she ate a little of
everything and praised it warmly, especially if Ruth had made it, she
did it, evidently, only out of consideration for them.

She read a little, talked a little, and slept a great deal. One day she
asked Carl to pull the heavy sandal wood chest over near her chair, and
give her the key, which hung behind a picture.

"Will you please go away now," she asked, with a winning smile, "for
just a little while?"

He put the bell on a table within her reach and asked her to ring if she
wanted anything. The hours went by and there was no sound. At last he
went up, very quietly, and found her asleep. The chest was locked and
the key was not to be found. He did not know whether she had opened it
or not, but she let him put it in its place again, without a word.

Sometimes they read to her, and she listened patiently, occasionally
asking a question, but more often falling asleep.

"I wish," she said one day, when she was alone with Carl, "that I could
hear something you had written."

"Why, Miss Ainslie," he exclaimed, in astonishment, "you wouldn't be
interested in the things I write--it's only newspaper stuff."

"Yes, I would," she answered softly; "yes, I would."

Something in the way she said it brought the mist to his eyes.

She liked to have Ruth brush her hair, but her greatest delight was i