The harper, seeing the unknown fainting away by his side, was startled, but not with fear. He was not boasting when he assured the stewardess that he was not cowardly. He gave a good proof of it now. He did not shrink from the unexpected visitor who had surprised him at such an hour, and in a place where he was far away from human help. Leaning toward him, he looked into his face.
No; this was not a rogue, as for a moment he had suspected. It was no villain that had sneaked up to him under some false pretense to frighten him away and get hold of his satchel, believing it to be filled with money. The light of the moon, mingling with the dim light of the lamp which the harper had left near the door, fell on a youthful face, pale and sad with care and suffering; and the harper watched that face with interest. It seemed to him that he never had seen features so perfect, so beautiful, a forehead so proud and noble, or a contrast more striking than that between the stranger and his clothes. A coarse jacket thrown over an unbleached
