I began to dream of other things,—­of the going home, and should I find Mr. McKey improved during my absence?  The party near me began to talk; it was pleasant to hear soft home words spoken by them,—­it gave me, alone as I was, a sense of protection.

When the owner of the footsteps again came near, I scarcely noticed it.  I had reason to do so a moment later.  Instead of going straight on, as before, the gentleman stopped an instant,—­then, with a strong gesture of excitement, stepped quite near to me, and saying hurriedly, as one does in sudden emergencies, “I beg your pardon, Madam,” he bent to look at the railing of the guard, just beside me.  It so happened that a boat-light illumined a little space just there, and that within it lay a hand whose glove I had a few moments before removed, to put back some stray hairs the sea-breeze had brought from their proper place.  No sooner did I divine his intent than I took my hand from off the railing.  The gentleman looked up suddenly; he was quite near then, and no more light than that the stars gave was needful for me.  I saw Mr. Axtell, and Mr. Axtell must have seen Miss Percival, for he said,—­

“This is a great surprise.  I did not hear of your being in Redleaf, Miss Anna.”

“Why should you, when I have only been there one day?”

“Did you see my sister?” he asked.

“I was with her during the morning,” I said.

“And she was as usual?”

“Better, I thought.”

“I trust so, for I have not been home since morning.  I received a letter, as I came through the village, from your father, desiring to see me, and I had time only to send a message to Lettie.  I hope Doctor Percival is well?”

“Oh, yes,—­else I should not be here.”

I had gloved my hand again during these words of recognition.  Mr. Axtell noticed it, and asked to see a ring that had attracted his attention.

“Excuse me,” I said,—­“it is one of my father’s gifts to me,—­I cannot take it off,—­it is a simple ring, Mr. Axtell”; and I held it out for him to see.

“I knew it!” he exclaimed; “there could not be two alike; years have not changed its lustre.  Mary wore it first on the day we were engaged.”

“Was it your gift to her, Mr. Axtell?”

He answered, “Yes”; and I, drawing it off, handed it to him, saying, “It should have been returned to you long ago.”

“No, no,” he said, quite solemnly, “it is in better keeping”; and he took the tiny circlet of gold, and looked a moment at it, with its shining cluster of brilliants, then gave it back to me.

“Have you no claim upon this?” I asked.

“On the ring?  Oh, no,—­none.”

I put back with gladness the gift my father gave.