And still, reason as he would, a something told him that all would yet be well, else, perhaps, he had never followed her.  Believing she would stop at Mr. Everett’s, he had come on thus far, finding her where he least expected it, and spite of his fears, there was much of pleasure mingled with his pain as he thought how he would protect and care for her, ministering to her comfort, and softening, as far as possible, the disagreeable things which he saw must necessarily surround her.  Money, he knew, would purchase almost everything, and if ever Durward Bellmont felt glad that he was rich, it was when he found ’Lena Rivers sick and alone at the not very comfortable inn of Laurel Hill.

As he was entering the dining-room, he saw Jerry—­whose long, lank figure and original manner had afforded him much amusement during his ride—­handing a dozen or more oranges to Mrs. Aldergrass, saying, as he did so, “They are for Miss ’Lena.  I thought mebby they’d taste good, this hot weather, and I ransacked the hull town to find the nicest and best.”

For a moment Durward’s cheek flushed at the idea of Lena’s being cared for by such as Jerry, but the next instant his heart grew warm toward the uncouth driver who, without any possible motive save the promptings of his own kindly nature, had thus thought of the stranger girl.  Erelong the stage was announced as ready and waiting, but to the surprise and regret of his fellow-passengers, who had found him a most agreeable traveling companion, Durward said he was not going any further that day.

“A new streak, ain’t it?” asked Jerry, who knew he was booked for the entire route; but the young man made no reply, and the fresh, spirited horses soon bore the lumbering vehicle far out of sight, leaving him to watch the cloud of dust which it carried in its train.

Uncle Timothy was in his element, for it was not often that a guest of Durward’s appearance honored his house with more than a passing call, and with the familiarity so common to a country landlord, he slapped him on the shoulder, telling him “there was the tallest kind of fish in the Honeoye,” whose waters, through the thick foliage of the trees were just discernible, sparkling and gleaming in the bright sunlight.

“I never fish, thank you, sir,” answered Durward, while the good-natured landlord continued:  “Now you don’t say it!  Hunt, then, mebby?”

“Occasionally,” said Durward, adding, “But my reason for stopping here is of entirely a different nature.  I hear there is with you a sick lady.  She is a friend of mine, and I am staying to see that she is well attended to.”

“Yes, yes,” said Uncle Timothy, suddenly changing his opinion of ’Lena, whose want of money had made him sadly suspicious of her.  “Yes, yes, a fine gal; fell into good hands, too, for my old woman is the greatest kind of a nuss.  Want to see her, don’t you?—­the lady I mean.”

“Not just yet; I would like a few moments’ conversation with your wife first,” answered Durward.