"Indeed!" Captain Valentine looked at me long and curiously. I kept my eyes fixed on my plate. When he spoke next it was on matters of indifference. Presently there fell a silence over most of the company. Captain Valentine bent towards me, and said in a low voice, almost a whisper: "No one can tell a better story than my brother Tom; you must listen to him." After this whisper there was a kind of hush, and then the one voice, deep and musical, began to speak. It held every one under its spell. I forget the story now, but I shall always remember how the voice of the speaker affected me; how the turmoil and irritation in my breast first subsided, then vanished; how Cousin Geoffrey's will sank out of sight; how his odious conditions ceased to be. By degrees the enthusiasm of the narrator communicated itself to at least one of his listeners. Tom Valentine was relating a personal experience, and step by step in that journey of peril which he so ably described I went with him. I shared his physical hunger and thirst; I surmounted his difficulties; I lived in the brave spirit which animated his breast. In the end his triumph was mine. I suppose there was something in my face which showed a certain amount of the feeling within me, for by degrees Tom Valentine ceased to look at any one but me. There was quite a little applause in the room when his story came to an end, but I think he sought and found his reward in the flashing and enthusiastic verdict which came from my eyes, although my lips said nothing. After dinner, in the conservatory, my cousin came up and spoke to me. "You liked my story?" he asked. "I did not tell you so," I answered. "Not with your lips. Sit down here. I have another adventure to relate, and it is not often that a man's vanity is soothed by such a listener as you are." He began to speak at once, and again I forgot Cousin Geoffrey under the spell of my cousin's voice. He told me two or three more of his adventures that evening. I made very few comments, but the hours flew on wings as I listened. No one interrupted us as we sat together in the conservatory; but although I remembered this fact with burning cheeks, later on, it passed unnoticed by me at the time. Suddenly my cousin stopped speaking. "You have been a very kind listener," he said. "I did not know a girl could care so much just for a man's mere adventures. I'm going back to Africa next week. I shall think of you in my next moments of peril." Then I remembered Cousin Geoffrey's will, and all that Tom Valentine's going away meant to my family and me. "Must you go in a week? must you really go in a week?" I said excitedly. "I have made my arrangements to go in about a week," he replied, starting back a little and looking at me in astonishment. I knew why he looked like that. The regret in my tone had been unmistakable. Before I could reply Tottie rushed in.