searching my face, but doubt whether, if I had known she held a loaded pistol, I could have looked up at that moment.
"Mr. Raymond," she at length observed, in a changed tone, "the last time I saw you, you told me you were going to make some endeavor to restore me to my former position before the world. I did not wish you to do so then; nor do I wish you to do so now. Can you not make me comparatively happy, then, by assuring me you have abandoned or will abandon a project so hopeless?"
"It is impossible," I replied with emphasis. "I cannot abandon it. Much as I grieve to be a source of sorrow to you, it is best you should know that I can never give up the hope of righting you while I live."
She put out her hand in a sort of hopeless appeal inexpressibly touching to behold in the fast waning firelight. But I was relentless.
"I should never be able to face the world or my own conscience if, through any weakness of my own, I should miss the blessed privilege of setting the wrong right, and saving a noble woman from unmerited disgrace." And then, seeing she was not likely to reply to this, drew a step nearer and said: "Is there not some little kindness I can show you, Miss Leavenworth? Is there no message you would like taken, or act it would give you pleasure to see performed?"
She stopped to think. "No," said she; "I have only one request to make, and that you refuse to grant."
"For the most unselfish of reasons," I urged.
She slowly shook her head. "You think so"; then, before I could reply, "I could desire one little favor shown me, however."
"What is that?"
