"I'll go and stay a day, anyway," promised Westerfelt. He glanced at
Harriet Floyd, who stood behind the curtains looking out of the window.
"I don't need any finer treatment than I've had, Luke. Miss Harriet's
been better than a sister to me. She saved my life the other night,
too. If she hadn't interfered that gang would have nabbed me as sure
as preaching, and I was unarmed and too weak to stand rough handling."

Harriet came from the window. She took the roll of blankets that
Bradley had brought and held one of them before the fire.

"It's chilly out to-day," she said. "You'd better wrap him up well,
Mr. Bradley."

Bradley did not reply. He heard a noise outside, and went out hastily
to see if his horse was standing where he had left him. Westerfelt
dragged himself from his chair and stood in front of the fire. He had
grown thinner during his confinement, and his clothes hung loosely on
him.

"You have been good to me," he repeated, in a low tone, "and I wish I
could do something to pay you back." She said nothing. She bent over
and felt the blanket to see if it were scorching, and then turned the
other side to the fire.

"Mrs. Bradley is a fine nurse," she said, presently. "She'll take good
care of you. Besides, she has a better claim on you than we--mother
and I--have; she has known you longer."

"I'll tell you the truth," he answered, after studying her face for a
moment in silence. "I'd really be willing to get hurt over again for