His heart was very tender toward Madge, but it was with an affection that seemed to him partly fraternal, and partly a regard for one different, better, purer than himself.  He proved the essential fineness, the capabilities of his nature, by his appreciation of some of her higher traits.  Her ministry to the dying girl had given her a sacredness in his eyes.  For the time she was becoming a sort of religion to him.  He revealed this attitude of mind to her by a gentle manner, and a tone of respect and consideration in the least thing he said.

“Oh,” thought the poor girl, “he could be so much to me and I to him!  His touch, even in thought, would never be coarse and unfeeling; and I have seen again and again that I can inspire him, move him, and make him happy.  Why must a wretched blunder thwart and blight two lives?”

Before they had finished their breakfast the beautiful languor of sleep was again in his companion’s eyes, and he said:  “Dear Madge, promise me you will take a long rest.  Before we part I want to tell you what an illumined page you have put in my memory this morning.  Some of the shadows in the picture are very dark, but there is also a light in it that ‘never was on sea or land.’  When you wake I shall be on my way to the trout-stream to which Dr. Sommers will guide me; and, do you know?  I feel as if my memories will be in accord with the scene of my camping-ground.  As I sit in my tent-door to-night I shall think over all you have said and described.”

Her only answer was a smile, that for some reason quickened his pulse.

Much occurred before they met again.

He went to his room, wrote some letters, and made other preparations.  Then, feeling that he should give the remaining time before his departure to Miss Wildmere, he sought her.  She appeared to be waiting for him on the piazza, and there was reproach in her tone, as she said, “I half feared you were going without bidding me good-by.”

“Such fears were scarcely just to me.”

“I did not know but that you had so greatly enjoyed your morning drive as to go away in a fit of absent-mindedness.  I have been sitting here alone an hour.”

“I could not know that.  When I drove up I saw that I should be de trop,” he replied, as they sauntered to an adjacent grove.

“Now, Graydon, you know that is never true, so far as I am concerned.”

“The trouble is, Miss Wildmere, others are concerned in such a way that the only resource left me is to keep my distance.”

“Mr. Arnault has returned to the city,” she said, with what appeared a great sigh of relief.  “I am perfectly free now.”

“Till Mr. Arnault returns.”

“I cannot help his return.”

“Oh, no.  I do not question his right to come back, or even to buy this hotel and turn us all out.”

“Please don’t talk about him any more.  I’m doing the best I can.”