Mr. Traverse was always a welcome visitor, for Mr. Sherwood could never forget that awful moment when death stared them both in the face, and how Traverse had kept the flying timbers from crashing into his pinioned body, receiving on his own head and arm the blows he might have escaped.

Dexie had listened with averted face and tear-dimmed eyes to the story as it fell from her father’s lips, and she found it hard to meet her hero without betraying something of the feeling which his noble conduct had awakened in her heart.

His frequent visits were both a joy and a pain to her, though why she felt glad to hear his step, yet dreaded to meet his glance, she could not have explained.

Gussie was able now to meet Mr. Traverse without that feeling of mortification which she experienced after she had read his love-letter before her guests.  His manner to her was as kind and respectful as ever, and she hoped he had almost forgotten the circumstance.  How often that thoughtless act had been regretted no one knew but herself.  There was no chance of adding his name to her list of admirers, for he kept her at a distance, even when his manner was most kind.  She often wondered if his city girl, as she styled her, had yet relented, or if he had given up all hope of winning her.  How he must have cared for her to write such a letter!

If she had learned the true facts of the case, and found out that the letter was really Dexie’s, as she at first supposed, she would have put aside the fact that her conduct was none the less reprehensible, and would have used all her arts to win him to her side.  As it was, she was more willing to sit by her father’s side during the time Mr. Traverse was present than at any other time during the day.

One evening when Mr. Traverse was sitting by Mr. Sherwood’s bedside, Gussie also being in the room, one of those sudden attacks that always came on without a moment’s warning seized upon Mr. Sherwood, and Mr. Traverse was so alarmed that for a moment he lost his presence of mind; but Gussie’s shrill screams, as she rushed out of the room, aroused him.  Something should be done for the sufferer, he knew not what, and reaching for the bell-cord that hung over the head of the bed he gave it a hasty pull, and as he did so Dexie was beside him.

She took in the situation at a glance, her rapid movements relieving Mr. Traverse from the fear and apprehension that had seized him, and the means of relief were soon at hand.

“Raise his head on your arm a moment,” she said, coming quickly to the bedside.  “Not quite so much; there.  I must get this into his mouth somehow.  Thank you.  Now, lay him down very carefully.”  A practical knowledge of what was required made her movements swift, though quiet, and she worked about him with a firm, steady hand.  She was able to witness her father’s agony and still keep her wits about her; but this was positive proof to her mother that Dexie had “no feelings.”