As it grew darker Nina drew the two hands she clasped together—­ Arthur’s and Edith’s—­laid them one above the other upon her bosom, pressed her own upon them, and when, at last, the candles were brought in and placed upon the table, Edith saw that the weary lids had closed and Nina was asleep.  Every effort, however, which she made to disengage her hand from its rather embarrassing position, threatened to arouse the sleeper, and for nearly half an hour she sat there with her hand beneath Arthur’s, but she dared not look at him, and with her face turned away, she answered his questions concerning Shannondale and its inhabitants.

After a time Mrs. Lamotte came in and asked if mademoiselle would like to retire.  Edith would far rather have gone to her room alone, but Mrs. Lamotte seemed bent upon hovering near her, and as there was no alternative she followed her up the stairs and into the chamber, where she had lain aside her things.  To her great relief her companion did not stay longer than necessary, and ere the entire household was still, Edith was dreaming of Collingwood and Richard.

The next morning was bright, balmy, and beautiful, and at an early hour Edith arose and went down to Nina, who heard her step in the hall, and called to her to come.

“Darling Miggie, I dreamed you were gone,” she said, “and, I cried so hard that it woke Arthur up.  He sleeps here every night, on that wide lounge,” and she pointed toward a corner, “I’ve grown so silly that I won’t let any body else take care of me but Arthur boy—­he does it so nice and lifts me so carefully.  Hasn’t he grown pale and thin?”

Edith hardly knew, for she had not ventured to look fully at him, but she assumed that he had, and Nina continued:  “He’s a darling boy, and Nina loves him now.”

“How is your head this morning,” Edith asked, and Nina replied, “It’s better.  It keeps growing better, some days it’s clear as a bell, but I don’t like it so well, for I know then that you ain’t Miggie,—­not the real Miggie who was sent home in mother’s coffin.  We have a new burying ground, one father selected long ago, the sweetest spot you ever saw, and they are moving the bodies there now.  They are going to take up my last mother, and the little bit of Miggie to-day, and Marie is so flurried.”

Arthur’s step was now heard in the hall, and this it was which so excited Edith that she failed to catch the word Marie, or to understand that it was Mrs. Lamotte who was worried about the removal of the bodies.  In a moment Arthur appeared, bringing a delicate bouquet for Nina, and a world of sunshine to Edith.  He was changed, Edith saw as she looked at him now, and yet she liked his face better than before.  He seemed to her like one over whom the fire had passed, purifying as it burned, and leaving a better metal than it had found.  He was wholly self-possessed this morning, greeting her as if the scene in the Deering woods had never been enacted, and she could hardly believe that they were the same, the Arthur of one year ago, and the Arthur of to-day; the quiet, elegant young man, who, with more than womanly tenderness, pushed Nina’s curls back under her lace cap, kissed her forehead, and then asked Edith if she did not look like a little nun with her hair so plain.