“I am Miss Hansford,” was Elithe’s reply, given with a slight elevation of her head.
“Hansford? Hansford?” the man repeated, as if trying to recall something. “Oh, yes, I know. Lizy Ann told me he was the parson and was coming here. Are you the parson’s daughter?”
“I am the Rev. Roger Hansford’s daughter,” Elithe replied with dignity and a heightened color.
The word “parson” when applied to her father always grated upon her and doubly so when spoken as this man spoke it. He must have read her thoughts, for he hastened to say: “Excuse me, Miss Hansford; I meant no disrespect. Lizy Ann called him the parson, and I did the same on the principle do as the Romans do when you are among them. Where is he?”
Elithe said that, as he was ill, she came in his stead.
“A deuced good exchange, too,” the stranger replied, “but aren’t you afraid with all these miners? There are some hard cases among them, and your face——”
Something in Elithe’s face checked him suddenly, while she rejoined vehemently: “I am not afraid. The hardest miner here would not see me harmed.”
“I believe you. The man would be a brute who could harm you, but he can’t help thinking,” the stranger replied in a tone of voice which made Elithe wish Mrs. Stokes would come.
The sound of the melodeon had ceased, and after a moment Rob pushed open the door and called to her: “Elithe, Elithe; they want you to play for them. I tried my hand and couldn’t make it go. Mrs. Stokes will sit with him.”
He nodded towards the bed, seeing now for the first time that the sick man was awake. Rob had heard of the snakes and the blue devils which had held high carnival in that room the night before, and he, too, shrank from the eyes fixed upon him. But when the stranger asked, “And who are you, coming in like a whirlwind to take my nurse away,” he answered fearlessly, “She is not your nurse. She’s my sister and I am Robert Hansford.”