The boy paused and Mr. Etheridge put his hand on his shoulder.
"She is as good as she is beautiful. She is an angel, Frank. I need not say that she knows—nothing."
The boy's face flushed, then went pale, and his eyes drooped.
"Thank you, sir," he said, gratefully. "No," and he shuddered, "I wouldn't have her know for—for the world."
Then he went in. Stella was flitting about the room seeing the laying of a cloth for an impromptu meal. He paused at the window as if afraid to approach or disturb her, but she saw him and came to him with that peculiar little graceful gait which her uncle had noticed so particularly on the first night of her coming.
"I am so glad you have come!" she said. "Uncle must be glad, too!"
"Yes," he said, in a low voice. "You are glad, really glad!"
Her beautiful eyes opened, and she smiled.
"Very glad. You must come in and have some supper. It is quite ready," and she went and called her uncle.
The old man came in and sat down. The boy waited until she pointed to a chair, into which he dropped obediently.