And here Weldon Gardner came before retiring for the night.
Softly touching the delicate wrist in its dainty frill, he noted the somewhat fitful pulsations of the disturbed life-centers. Bending above the tell-tale heart-beats, his practiced ear assured him that ere long the deep repose of his charge would effectually restore her to health.
How like chiseled marble she looked, lying there in her absolute helplessness beneath his stranger gaze! How pure the white brow, with its clustering rings of glossy hair! How exquisitely fine the white hand to which the dimples of babyhood yet clung! How classic the contour of her face, into which already the warm hue of health was creeping! A heavy sigh escaped him as he noted each perfection of outline. Who was this lovely stranger? And what could she be to him?
"Why was I ever such a dupe?" he said in his heart. "Fettered—fettered for life!"
But suddenly realizing that except in his professional capacity he had no right thus to intrude upon her slumbers, the young physician turned from the enchanting picture.
"How is she now, sir?" respectfully inquired the housekeeper.
"Fairly well," he replied cheerfully; "I do not think she is hurt, except a few bruises, which we must look after. She was thrown pretty hard against that tree. To-morrow she will be able to give an account of herself. We can do nothing toward finding her friends before that time. Call, if she should become restless," and the young man retired to his own apartment, there to ponder deeply, as he had never before pondered in his life.
Some days later the following letter was posted by Weldon Gardner:
NEW YORK, September 20, 1879.