There had been a long silence.  Then Zura recalled the event of the day:  “Oh, Mr. Hanaford, by the way.  You remember Pinkey Chalmers, don’t you—­the nice boy you and Ursula entertained so beautifully in the garden when he called the last time?  He was here again to-day; had his bride with him.  Ursula will tell you what she looked like.  I do wish you had been here.  Mr. Chalmers told us the most exciting news about a Chicago cashier who skipped away with a million dollars and hid both himself and the money—­nobody knows where.  They think he is out this way and I think I am going to find him.”

In the passing of one second the happiness in Page Hanaford’s face withered.  Like a mask fear covered it.  He thrust his strained body forward and with shaking hand grasped the shoulder of the girl.  “Hid it!  Tell me, in heaven’s name, tell me where could a man hide a million dollars?” His voice was tense to the breaking point.  He searched the girl’s face as if all eternity depended upon her reply.

Before she could make it he sank back in his chair, pitifully white and limp.  He begged for air.  We opened the window.  Zura ran for water.  While I bathed his face he said, looking at Zura:  “I beg your pardon.  I’m not at all well, but I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“I’m not startled,” she answered, and lightly added:  “but I was just wondering why anybody would care so much where a million old dollars were hid.  I know a hundred things I’d rather find.”

The man laid his hand on that of the girl as it rested on the arm of the chair.  “Name one, Zura.”

“Love.”  And on her face the high lights were softened to compassion and tenderness.

Page took his hand from hers and covered his eyes.

* * * * *

There I stood waiting to put another cold cloth on the boy’s head.  Neither one of them knew I was on earth.  I hardly knew it myself.  For the first time in my life I was seeing the real thing and the wonder of it almost petrified me.

What else might have happened is an untold tale.  Jane saved the situation.  I had not noticed her absence.  She now entered, carrying a tray well filled with crackers and a beverage which she placed before Page.  “Honey, I don’t believe in any of those spirit-rising liquors even when you faint, but I made this jape gruice right off our own vine and fig tree and I know it’s pure and innocent.  Yes, Zura, grape juice is what I said.  Page can drink every gallon I have if he wants it, and I’ll toast cheese and crackers for him all night.”

The twist in Jane Gray’s tongue might lead to laughter, but her heart never missed the road to thoughtful kindness.

Very soon Page said he felt much better and would get home and to bed.  When he took his coat and hat from the hall he looked so weak, so near to illness, I begged him to stay and let us care for him.  He gently refused, saying he would be all right in the morning.  I followed him to the gate.  He turned to say good-night.