“Nonsense, nonsense,” protested Merle, in sweet blushing confusion. “You make far too much of the little I did.” “You saved my life,” said Dick, determinedly. “You can call that a little thing if you choose.” “No, no,” she replied, earnestly. “If I really did that, then it was truly a big thing.” “For me.” “And for all of us,” she added, with face half-averted. “And you, too?” pressed Dick. “Yes, for me, too,” answered Merle, turning round and frankly meeting his gaze. “I should never have been happy again had any harm come to you there—that night—in my very home—without a proper effort to get you away to a place of safety.” “God bless you, Merle, dear,” exclaimed Dick, as again he pressed her hands. He had been carried away by his fervent emotions, but she did not resent the familiar and endearing manner of his address. He would have taken her in his arms there and then, but Merle drew back and gave a little glance aside. Then Dick remembered Tia Teresa. To his astonishment he found her chatting with Pierre Luzon as if they were old friends. Dick left Merle for the moment to greet the duenna. “And I have to thank you, too, for helping me,” he said. Then he added with a laugh: “When am I to be privileged to wear that mantilla again?” “You are not to be allowed to endanger yourself again,” replied Tia Teresa. “And I warn you now. We remain here only half an hour—these are our orders.” “Whose orders?” “Never mind. Just one half hour, that is all.” “Then I’ll make the best of my time,” exclaimed Dick, turning toward Merle. “I see you won’t be lonely with my gallant friend, Pierre Luzon,” he added with a smile. “Oh, I knew Pierre when he was just as handsome a young fellow as yourself,” retorted Tia Teresa. “But we’ll excuse you, and Pierre will keep the time.” Dick led Merle down a glade of the forest, but before doing so he had unstrapped the roll of drawings from the horn of his saddle. “What are you carrying so very carefully?” asked Merle. “My plans for the ideal city. I told you I was going to have a try in that competition.” “I hope you’ll have good luck.” “Well, I want you to help me. Will you take this package, please, to Chester Munson and ask him to send it to the proper address?” “With the greatest of pleasure, Mr. Willoughby,”—and she put forth her hands for the roll. “No—we’ll lay it down here for the present. This log will serve as a seat. See, this twisted, limb makes quite a comfortable nook for you.” He had halted at a fallen tree, had dropped the drawing on the turf, and was now dusting away the twigs and leaves from the seat he had chosen. “Cannot I look at the drawings?” she asked, after settling herself cosily. “Before handing them to Munson, if you like. But there are other things to talk about now.” As he spoke he tossed his hat on the ground at her feet. “Are you growing impatient over your confinement?” she asked.