Mr. Sherwood was soon able to look the thanks he could not express, and Dexie took a fan that lay near at hand and began, with a gentle motion, to fan her father’s flushed face.  Guy noticed for the first time that the tears were flowing down her cheeks, though she gave no sign of her distress, nor made any movement to wipe them away lest that act should betray them.

“Let me do that much, Dexie?” was the low, whispered words, as he took the fan from Dexie’s fingers.

He drew a chair softly to the bedside, and kept up the gentle motion until Guy felt assured that the sufferer was asleep.

Dexie was kneeling by the bedside, intently watching her father’s face through her tears, and she started when Guy laid his hand across her clasped palms, and whispered, “Come away, Dexie; he is sleeping.”

She rose at his bidding, and he drew her to the window.

“This has been very hard on you, Dexie, and you have borne it bravely,” he whispered softly, holding her trembling hands in his own.  “Do not try to hide the tears from me.  Am I not your friend?”

The touch of his hand and the tenderness of his voice touched a chord in Dexie’s heart and sent a thrill through every nerve, and she raised her eyes to his for one brief moment; but in that short time she read a story that might have filled a volume, and no one could now say of her that “her heart had not yet awakened,” for she knew the truth at last.

The appearance of Mrs. Jarvis at this moment was a welcome relief to Dexie, and giving a hasty account of her father’s late attack she hurried from the room.  She felt she must get away from everyone and face this new thing that had come upon her.

As she passed into the hall she found Guy Traverse waiting for her.

“May I ask for a few minutes, Miss Dexie?” he asked, in a low voice.  “I have something I would like to say to you to-night.”

“Please excuse me to-night, Mr. Traverse,” she replied, without lifting her eyes.  “I do not feel able to see anyone just now.”

“Some other time, Dexie, then.  Good-night,” and he held her hand one moment in his, and turned to leave the house.

He did not seem particularly pleased to find Gussie waiting at the parlor door for him; but he intended to pass on and go home.

“Oh!  Mr. Traverse you are not going home so soon, surely!” she cried.  “I wanted your opinion of a new book that was sent to me to-day.  Is papa not better?” seeing the altered expression on his face.

“Yes, he is better now, I believe, but you must excuse me to-night, Miss Sherwood; your book must wait for some future time.  Good evening,” and the door closed softly behind him.

As Guy turned the corner of the house, intending to take a short cut to his hotel through the back garden, there issued from an open window such music as Guy had never heard before—­so soft, so sad, yet so exquisitely sweet that he stopped for a moment to listen.  He had often listened to Dexie’s playing; but he never had heard her play a piece like that, and he drew nearer the window.