The young couple looked at each other with dismay pictured in their countenances.

“I wish it were in my power to make you more comfortable,” said the kind-hearted girl, in whose humble abode they were.  “What we have is at your service in welcome, and all that it is in my power to do shall be done for you cheerfully.  If father was only at home—­but that can’t be helped.”

The young man dazed upon her in wonder and shame—­wonder at the charm that now appeared in her singularly marked countenance, and shame for the disgraceful and cowardly cruelty with which he had a little while before so wantonly assailed her.

The doctor was positive about the matter, and so there was no alternative.  After seeing his unhappy relative in as comfortable a condition as possible, the young man, with the doctor’s aid, repaired his crippled vehicle by the restoration of a linchpin, and started for the city to bear intelligence of the sad accident, and bring out the mother of the injured girl.

Alone with the person towards whom she had only a short time before acted in such shameless violation of womanly kindness and lady-like propriety, our “nice young lady” did not feel more comfortable in mind than body.  Every look—­every word—­every tone—­every act of the kind-hearted girl—­was a rebuke.  The delicacy of her attentions, and the absence of everything like a desire to refund her of the recent unpleasant incident, marked her as possessing, even if her face and attire were plain, and her position humble, all the elements of a true lady.

Although the doctor, when he left, did not speak very encouragingly, the vigorous system of the young girl began to react and she grew better quite rapidly so that when her parents arrived with the family physician, she was so much improved that it was at once decided to take her to the city.

For an hour before her parents came she lay feigning to be in sleep, yet observing every movement and word of her gentle attendant.  It was an hour of shame, self-reproaches, and repentance.  She was not really bad at heart; but false estimates of things, trifling associations, and a thoughtless disregard of others, had made her far less a lady in act than she imagined herself to be in quality.  Her parents, when they arrived, overwhelmed the young girl with thankfulness; and the father, at parting, tried to induce her to accept a sum of money.  But the offers seemed to disturb her.

“O, no, sir!” she said, drawing back, while a glow came into her pale face, and made it almost beautiful; “I have only done a simple duty.”

“But you are poor,” he urged, glancing around.  “Take this, and let it make you more comfortable.”

“We are contented with what God has given to us,” she replied, cheerfully.  “For what he gives is always the best portion.  No, sir; I cannot receive money for doing only a common duty.”

“Your reward is great,” said the father, touched with the noble answer, “may God bless you, my good girl!  And if you will not receive my money, accept my grateful thanks.”