The doctor looked down almost reverently at the little white hand resting against his dark one.

Suddenly Tillie’s eyes fixed themselves upon the open doorway, where the smiling presence of Walter Fairchilds presented itself to her startled gaze.

“Tillie!  And the Doc!  Well, it’s good to see you.  May I break in on your conference—­I can see it ’& important.”  He spoke lightly, but his voice was vibrant with some restrained emotion.  At the first sight of him, Tillie’s hand instinctively crept up to feel if those precious curls were in their proper place.  The care and devotion she had spent upon them during all these weary, desolate months!  And all because a man—­the one, only man—­had once said they were pretty!  Alas, Tillie, for your Mennonite principles!

And now, at sight of the dear, familiar face and form, the girl trembled and was speechless.

Not so the doctor.  With a yell, he turned upon the visitor, grasped both his hands, and nearly wrung them off.

“Hang me, of I was ever so glad to see a feller like wot I am you.  Teacher,” he cried in huge delight, “the country’s saved!  Providence fetched you here in the nick of time!  You always was a friend to Tillie, and you kin help her out now!”

Walter Fairchilds did not reply at first.  He stood, gazing over the doctor’s shoulder at the new Tillie, transformed in countenance by the deep waters through which she had passed in the five months that had slipped round since he had gone out of her life; and so transformed in appearance by the dropping of her Mennonite garb that he could hardly believe the testimony of his eyes.

“Is it—­is it really you, Tillie?” he said, holding out his hand.  “And aren’t you even a little bit glad to see me?”

The familiar voice brought the life-blood back to her face.  She took a step toward him, both hands outstretched,—­then, suddenly, she stopped and her cheeks crimsoned.  “Of course we’re glad to see you—­very!” she said softly but constrainedly.

“Lemme tell you the news,” shouted the doctor.  “You ’ll mebbe save Tillie from goin’ out there to her pop’s farm ag’in!  She’s teacher at William Penn, and her pop’s over there at the Board meetin’ now, havin’ her throwed off, and then he’ll want to take her home to work herself to death for him and all them baker’s dozen of children he’s got out there!  And Tillie she don’t want to go—­and waste all her nice education that there way!”

Fairchilds took her hand and looked down into her shining eyes.

“I hardly know you, Tillie, in your new way of dressing!”

“What—­what brings you here?” she asked, drawing away her hand.

“I’ve come from the Millersville Normal School with a letter for you from Mrs. Lansing,” he explained, “and I’ve promised to bring you back with me by way of answer.

“I am an instructor in English there now, you know, and so, of course, I have come to know your ‘Miss Margaret,’” he added, in answer to Tillie’s unspoken question.