Ellen turned white.  Somehow this protecting care for herself, in the face of all which she had been considering that day, gave her a tremendous shock.  She felt at once touched and more indignant than she had ever been in her whole life.  She had been half believing that Robert was neglecting her, that he had forgotten her; all day she had been judging his action of cutting the wages of the workmen from her unswerving, childlike, unshadowed point of view, and now this little evidence of humanity towards her, in the face of what she considered wholesale inhumanity towards others, made her at once severe to him and to herself, and she forced back sternly the leap of pleasure and happiness which this thought of her awakened.  “No, thank you,” she said, shortly; “I am much obliged, but I would rather walk.”

“But you cannot, in this storm,” pleaded Robert, in a low voice.

“Yes, I can; it is no worse for me than for others.  There is Maria Atkins, she has been coughing all day.”

“I will take her too.  Ellen, you cannot walk.  You must let me take you.”

“I am much obliged, but I would rather not,” replied Ellen, in an icy tone.  She looked quite hard in his face.

Robert looked at her perplexed.  “But it is drifting,” he said.

“It is no worse for me than for the others.”  Ellen turned to go.  Her attitude of rebuff was unmistakable.

Robert colored.  “Very well; I will not urge you,” he said, coldly.  Then he returned to his desk, and Ellen went out.  She caught up with Maria Atkins, who was struggling painfully through the drifts, leaning on Abby’s arm, and slipped a hand under her thin shoulder.

“I expect nothing but she’ll get her death out in this storm,” grumbled Abby.  “What did he want, Ellen?”

“Nothing in particular,” replied Ellen.  Uppermost in her mind at that moment was the charge of cruelty against Robert for not taking her hint as to Maria.  “He can ask me to ride because he has amused himself with me, but as for taking this poor girl, whom he does not love, when it may mean life or death to her, he did not think seriously of doing that for a moment,” she thought.

Maria was coughing, although she strove hard to smother the coughs.  Granville Joy, who was plodding ahead, turned and waited until they came up.

“You had better let me carry you, Maria,” he said, jocularly, but his honest eyes were full of concern.

“He is enough sight kinder than Robert Lloyd,” thought Ellen; “he has a better heart.”  And then the splendid Lloyd sleigh came up behind them and stopped, tilting to a drift.  Robert, in his fur-lined coat, sprang out and went up to Maria.

“Please let me take you home,” he said, kindly.  “You have a cold, and this storm is too severe for you to be out.  Please let me take you home.”

Maria looked at him, fairly gasping with astonishment.  She tried to speak, but a cough choked her.