He only knew he should be terribly disappointed if his conjectures proved wrong, and a smothered prayer rose to his lips, "God grant it may be the she I mean." The she he meant was sleeping now.

The brown head which rolled so restlessly all night was lying quietly upon the pillows, the burning cheek resting upon one hand, and the mass of long, bright hair tucked back under one of Mrs.Dobson's own nightcaps, that lady having sought in vain for such an article among her mistress' wardrobe.

She did not hear Andy as he stepped softly across the floor to the bedside.

Bending cautiously above her, he hesitated a moment, while a great throb of disappointment ran through his veins.

Surely that was not Ethie, with the hollow cheeks and the disfiguring frill around her face, giving her more the look of the new and stylish nurse Melinda had got from Chicago--the woman who wore a cap in place of a bonnet, and jabbered half the time in some foreign tongue, which Melinda said was French.