tottering wall, dragged out to life and liberty one who, until that
hour, was to him an utter stranger.

Pushing back his snowy hair, Grandfather Markham showed upon his
temple a long, white scar, obtained the night when he periled his own
life to save that of another. There was a doubly warm pressure now of
the old man's hand, as Guy replied, "I've heard that story from father
himself, but the name of his preserver had escaped me. Why didn't you
tell me who you were?"

"I thought 'twould look too much like demanding it as a right--too
much like begging, and I s'pose I felt too proud. Pride is my
besetting sin--the one I pray most against."

Guy looked keenly now at the man whose besetting sin was pride, and as
he marked the cheapness of his attire, his pantaloons faded and short,
his coat worn threadbare and shabby, his shoes both patched at the
toes, his cotton shirt minus a bosom, and then thought of the humble
cottage, with its few rocky acres, he wondered of what he could be
proud.

Meantime, for Maddy, Dr. Holbrook had prescribed perfect quiet,
bidding them darken again the window from which the shade had been
removed, and ordering all save the grandmother to leave the room and
let the patient sleep, if possible. Even Jessie was not permitted to
stay, though Maddy clung to her as to a dear friend. In a few
whispered words Jessie had told her name, saying she came from
Aikenside, and that her Brother Guy was there, too, outdoors, in the
carriage. "He heard how sick you were at Devonshire, this morning, and
drove right home for me to come to see you. I told him of you that day