her hand to him.

"I thank you very much, Mr. Halifax. If I wanted help I would ask you;
indeed I would."

"Thank YOU. Good-night."

He pressed the hand with reverence--and was gone. I saw Miss March
look after him: then she turned to speak and smiled with me. A light
word, an easy smile, as to a poor invalid whom she had often pitied out
of the fulness of her womanly heart.

Soon I followed John into the parlour. He asked me no questions, made
no remarks, only took his candle and went up-stairs.

But, years afterwards, he confessed to me that the touch of that
hand--it was a rather peculiar hand in the "feel" of it, as the
children say, with a very soft palm, and fingers that had a habit of
perpetually fluttering, like a little bird's wing--the touch of that
hand was to the young man like the revelation of a new world.

CHAPTER XII

The next day John rode away earlier even than was his wont, I thought.
He stayed but a little while talking with me. While Mrs. Tod was
bustling over our breakfast he asked her, in a grave and unconcerned
manner, "How Mr. March was this morning?" which was the only allusion
he made to the previous night's occurrences.

I had a long, quiet day alone in the beech-wood, close below our
cottage, sitting by the little runnel, now worn to a thread with the
summer weather, but singing still. It talked to me like a living thing.

When I came home in the evening Miss March stood in front of the
cottage, with--strange to say--her father. But I had heard that his
paroxysms were often of brief continuance, and that, like most
confirmed valetudinarians, when real danger stared him in the face he
put it from him, and was glad to be well.

Seeing me coming, Miss March whispered to him; he turned upon me a
listless gaze from over his fur collar, and bowed languidly, without
rising from his easy chair. Yes, it was Mr. March--the very Mr. March
we had met! I knew him, changed though he was; but he did not know me
in the least, as, indeed, was not likely.

His daughter came a step or two to meet me. "You are better, I see,
Mr. Fletcher. Enderley is a most healthy place, as I try to persuade
my father. This is Mr. Fletcher, sir, the gentleman who--"

"Was so obliging as to ride to S----, last night, for me? Allow me to
thank him myself."

I began to disclaim, and Miss March to explain; but we must both have
been slightly incoherent, for I think the poor gentleman was never
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