Her eyes fell upon her hands clasped in her lap, and her cheeks grew pale.

“My father,” she half whispered.

“He kept them from you?”

“It must have been so.”

Fairchilds looked very grave.  He did not speak at once.

“How can you forgive such things?” he presently asked.  “One tenth of the things you have had to bear would have made an incarnate fiend of me!”

She kept her eyes downcast and did not answer.

“I can’t tell you,” he went on, “how bitterly disappointed I was when I didn’t hear from you.  I couldn’t understand why you didn’t write.  And it gave me a sense of disappointment in you.  I thought I must have overestimated the worth of our friendship in your eyes.  I see now—­and indeed in my heart I always knew—­that I did you injustice.”

She did not look up, but her bosom rose and fell in long breaths.

“There has not been a day,” he said, “that I have not thought of you, and wished I knew all about you and could see you and speak with you—­Tillie, what a haunting little personality you are!”

She raised her eyes then,—­a soft fire in them that set his pulse to bounding.  But before she could answer him they were interrupted by the sound of quick steps coming down the board walk toward the arbor.  Tillie started like a deer ready to flee, but Fairchilds laid a reassuring hand upon hers.  “It’s the Doc,” he said.

The faithful old fellow joined them, his finger on his lips to warn them to silence.

“Don’t leave no one hear us out here!  Jake Getz he’s went over to the hotel to look fer Tillie, but he’ll be back here in a jiffy, and we’ve got to hurry on.  Tillie, you go on up and pack your clo’es in a walise or whatever, and hurry down here back.  I’m hitchin’ my buggy fer yous as quick as I kin.  I’ll leave yous borry the loan of it off of me till to-morrow—­then, Teacher, you kin fetch it over ag’in.  Ain’t?”

“All right, Doc; you’re a brick!”

Tillie sped into the house to obey the doctor’s bidding, and Fairchilds went with him across the street to the hotel stables.

In the course of ten minutes the three conspirators were together again in the stable-yard behind the store, the doctor’s horse and buggy ready before them.

“Father’s in the store—­I heard his voice,” panted Tillie, as Fairchilds took her satchel from her and stowed it in the back of the buggy.

“Hurry on, then,” whispered the doctor, hoarsely, pushing them both, with scant ceremony, into the carriage.  “Good-by to yous—­ and good luck!  Och, that’s all right; no thanks necessary!  I’m tickled to the end of my hair at gettin’ ahead of Jake Getz!  Say, Fairchilds,” he said, with a wink, “this here mare’s wonderful safe—­you don’t have to hold the reins with both hands!  See?”

And he shook in silent laughter at his own delicate and delicious humor, as he watched them start out of the yard and down the road toward Millersville.