Not that he cared for the brandy, of which he seldom tasted; but he needed something to relieve the deathlike faintness which occasionally came over him, and which old Hagar, looking only at his mischievous eyes, failed to observe.  Only those who knew Henry Warner intimately gave him credit for many admirable qualities he really possessed—­so full was he of fun.  It was in his merry eyes and about his quizzically shaped mouth that the principal difficulty lay; and most persons, seeing him for the first time, fancied that in some way he was making sport of them.  This was old Hagar’s impression, as she sat there in dignified silence, rather enjoying, than otherwise, the occasional groans which came from his white lips.  There were intervals, however, when he was comparatively free from pain, and these he improved by questioning her with regard to Maggie, asking who she was and where she lived.

“She is Maggie Miller, and she lives in a house,” answered the old woman rather pettishly.

“Ah, indeed—­snappish, are you?” said the young man, attempting to turn himself a little, the better to see his companion.  “Confound that leg!” he continued, as a fierce twinge gave him warning not to try many experiments.  “I know her name is Maggie Miller, and I supposed she lived in a house; but who is she, anyway, and what is she?”

“If you mean is she anybody, I can answer that question quick,” returned Hagar.  “She calls Madam Conway her grandmother, and Madam Conway came from one of the best families in England—­that’s who she is; and as to what she is, she’s the finest, handsomest, smartest girl in America; and as long as old Hagar Warren lives no city chap with strapped-down pantaloons and sneering mouth is going to fool with her either!”

“Confound my mouth—­it’s always getting me into trouble!” thought the stranger, trying in vain to smooth down the corners of the offending organ, which in spite of him would curve with what Hagar called a sneer, and from which there finally broke a merry laugh, sadly at variance with the suffering expression of his face.

“Your leg must hurt you mightily, the way you go on,” muttered Hagar; and the young man answered:  “It does almost murder me, but when a laugh is in a fellow he can’t help letting it out, can he?  But where the plague can that witch of a—­I beg your pardon, Mrs. Hagar,” he added hastily, as he saw the frown settling on the old woman’s face, “I mean to say where can Miss Miller be?  I shall faint away unless she comes soon, or you give me a taste of the brandy!”

This time there was something in the tone of his voice which prompted Hagar to draw near, and she was about to offer him the brandy when Maggie appeared, together with three men bearing a litter.  The sight of her produced a much better effect upon him than Hagar’s brandy would have done, and motioning the old woman aside he declared himself ready to be removed.