"On these conditions, I thank you, also."

She put out her hand. He took it, resisted the inclination to press his
lips to it, and held it lightly in his.

"If you will give me permission--to call upon you--should I be in
Lightfield during your stay there--I shall be more than happy!"

She was about to refuse, but the mute pleading of his eyes deterred her.
He had been kind to her, and it could do her no harm. Probably, he would
never come to Lightfield, so she gave him the permission he asked for.

The day passed without incident, and nightfall found Margie within ten
miles of her destination. She was driven along a rough country road, to a
square farm-house--looming up white through the dark--and a moment later
she was lying, pale and exhausted, in the arms of Nurse Day.

"My blessed child!" cried the old lady; "my precious little Margie! My
old eyes will almost grow young again, after having been cheered by the
sight of ye!" And she kissed Margie again and again, while Leo expressed
his delight in true canine style--by barking vociferously, and leaping
over the chairs and tables.

Nurse Day was pleasantly situated. Her husband was a grave, staid
man who was very kind to Margie, always. The farm was a rambling
affair--extending over, and embracing in its ample limits, hill and dale,
meadow and woodland, and a portion, of a bright, swift river, on whose
bold banks it was Margie's delight to sit through the purple sunsets, and
watch the play of light and shade on the bare, rocky cliff opposite.