At last Dexie broke the silence by asking anxiously: 

“Do you think papa is any worse than usual to-night, Mr. Traverse?”

“Well, I hope not, Miss Dexie.  Does he take those bad turns very often?” and his eyes were full of pity as he spoke.

“Not often at this hour; the turn of the night is always his worst time.  Oh!  I hope it will not be severe to-night.  He seems so much weaker than usual that I—­I’m afraid for him,” she said brokenly.

“Let me stay with you to-night, Dexie; I cannot go away and leave you with such a dread on your heart,” and he came near to her side.  “I can help you if he is worse,” he added, gently, “so let me share your watch to-night; indeed I will not leave you like this,” for his tender, sympathetic words brought the tears, and she hid her face in her handkerchief.

Presently she grew calmer, but her voice was very low as she answered: 

“You are very kind, Mr. Traverse, but I shall not need your help.  I can call Mrs. Jarvis if he should be worse.  I thank you for your kind offer, but your assistance will not be necessary.”

“That is not kind of you, Dexie,” said Guy reproachfully.  “Your father said I was his best friend, and you ought not to send me away when I might be of service to him; so let me stay, Dexie.”

“Well, I suppose it looks rude to refuse your help; but I am sure mamma and Gussie would think it improper, if I allowed you to remain,” she answered, with downcast eyes.

“Is that the reason you do not wish me to stay with you?” and he smiled down at the bowed head.  “Do you think conventionality should be considered when your father’s comfort is in question?” he asked.  “You know your father has often asked me to sit with him when he was restless and could not sleep, but you did not seem willing,” he added, seeing she had no reply, “and I have been anxious to please you in all things, Dexie.”

“There was no need to consult me about it,” she replied, feeling vexed at the tone that implied so much more than he had a right to express under the circumstances, and taking her work-basket to the far side of the table she sat down to work.

“Must I go or may I stay, Dexie? at least till the time of your father’s usual attack?  Be kind this once and say I may stay.”

“As you please.  There is a new book of poems, and a late New York paper,” said she presently, feeling that she must say something.  “They will help to pass away the time.”

But Guy Traverse had no intention of passing his time over reading-matter, something of a more personal nature was in hand.  Dexie was determined she would not be the first to break the silence, and the ticking of the clock was the only sound heard for some time.

“And so my attentions are obnoxious, Miss Dexie?  I was grieved to hear that, when I wished them to be the opposite.”

The words, low and tender, brought painful heart-throbs to Dexie’s bosom, but she hastily answered: