“I was called here on very urgent business,” he said, “and shall be obliged to attend to it to-night, but I shall return soon, and will see you in the morning.  Meanwhile, feel perfectly at home.  I have engaged a chamber-maid to attend to you, and do not be afraid to make your wants known.  Good-night, now, and pleasant dreams.”

She was so weary, that she slept some, with Leo hugged tightly to her breast; for she felt a sense of security in having this faithful friend near her.  Breakfast was served in her room, and by-and-by Castrani came up.  He spoke to her cheerfully, though he could not fail to notice that some terrible blow had fallen upon her since last he had seen her, gay and brilliant, at a party in New York.  But he forbore to question her.  Margie appreciated his delicacy, and something impelled her to confide to him what she had not entrusted to the descretion of any other person.  She owed him this confidence, for his disinterested kindness.

“Mr. Castrani,” she said, quietly enough, outwardly, “circumstances, of which I cannot speak, have made it necessary for me to leave New York.  I do not desire that the place of my destination shall be known to any one.  But to show you how much I appreciate your kindness, and how entirely I trust you, I will inform you that I am going to Lightfield, in New Hampshire, to stop an indefinite length of time with my old nurse, Mrs. Day.”

Castrani was visibly affected by this proof of her confidence.

“From me, no one shall ever know the place of your refuge,” he said, earnestly.  “Your train leaves at ten.  It is now nine.  If you would only permit me to see you safely to the end of your journey!”

She flushed.  He read a quiet reproach in her eye.

“Pardon me.  I know it may seem like officiousness, but I would try and not be disagreeable to you.  I would not even speak to you, if you desired it should be so.  But I could travel in the same car with you, and be there to protect you, if you should need me.”

“I thank you greatly.  But I had rather you went no further.  I shall meet with no difficulty, I think.  I shall reach Nurse Day’s by sunset.”

“As you will.  I will not press the matter.  Your pleasure shall be mine.”

A little later, he assisted her from the carriage that had taken her to the depot.  Her baggage was checked—­he handed her the check, and her ticket, and then pressed into her hand a roll of bank-notes.  She put them back quietly, but he declined taking them.

“I do not give it to you—­I lend it to you.  You shall repay it at your convenience.”

“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!”