Part 69 (2/2)

”Don't worry. And if you behave yourself I'll let you get up after lunch.” He gave some directions to Mrs. Bergen as to the treatment of Beth's blistered arms, and went out.

So in spite of the pain that she still suffered, Beth was content. At least she was content until Aunt Tillie brought her Miss Peggy McGuire's silver hand-mirror and she saw the reflection of her once beautiful self.

”Aunt Tillie!” she gasped. ”I'm a sight.”

”Maybe--but that's a sight better than bein' burned to death,” said the old lady, soberly.

”My hair----!”

”It's only frizzled. They say that's good for the hair,” she said cheerfully.

”Oh, well,” sighed Beth as she laid the mirror down beside her. ”I guess I ought to be glad I'm alive after----”

And then with an uncontrollable shudder, she asked, ”And--and--_him_?”

”Dead,” said Aunt Tillie with unction. ”Burned to a crisp.”

Beth gasped but said nothing more. She didn't want to think of yesterday, but she couldn't help it--the horrors that she had pa.s.sed through--the fate that might have been in store for her, if--Peter hadn't found her in time!

Beth relaxed in comfort while Aunt Tillie bathed and anointed her, brushed out the hair that was ”frizzled,” refres.h.i.+ng and restoring her patient, so that after lunch she got up and put on the clothing that had been brought from her home. Her arms were swathed in bandages from wrists to shoulders but the pain was much less, so, when McGuire knocked at the door and asked if he might see her, she was sitting in a chair by the window and greeted him with a smile.

He entered timidly and awkwardly, rubbing his fingers uncomfortably against the palms of his hands.

”They tell me you're feelin' better, Miss Cameron,” he said soberly.

”I--I'd like to talk to you for a moment,” and with a glance at Aunt Tillie, ”alone if you don't mind.”

Aunt Tillie gathered up some bandages and grudgingly departed.

McGuire came forward slowly and sank into a chair beside Beth's, laying his hand timidly on hers.

”I thank G.o.d nothing happened to you, child, and I hope you believe me when I say it,” he began in an uncertain voice.

”Oh, yes, sir, I do.”

”Because the only thing that matters to me now is setting myself straight with you and Mr. Nichols.”

He paused in a difficulty of speech and then went on.

”He--Mr. Nichols has told you everything----?”

Beth wagged her head like a solemn child and then laid her other hand on his.

”Oh, I'm so sorry for you,” she said.

”You mustn't say that,” he muttered. ”I--I've done you a great wrong--not trying to find out about Ben Cameron--not trying to find _you_. But I've suffered for it, Miss----” And then eagerly----”You don't mind my calling you Beth, do you?”

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