He has asked after Mr. St. Vincent, who is now asleep. He is no worse. Denise thinks him better. He has not fainted since morning. "Cecil," her father says, "will you stay here and let me go home for the carriage? I am afraid I cannot carry you quite so far, and I dare say Jane is half crazy with alarm." Cecil looks very much as if she could not consent to the brief separation. The young girl glances from one face to the other. "Yes, you will stay," she answers, with cheerful decision. "Papa will soon return for you. Would you mind if I gave her some berries and milk?" she asks, rather timidly, of Mr. Grandon. "Oh, no! I will soon come back." He stoops and kisses Cecil, and makes a slight signal to Denise, who follows him. "She saved my darling from a great peril," he says, with deep emotion, "perhaps her very life. What can I do for her?" "Keep her from that terrible marriage," returns Denise. "She is too sweet, too pretty for such an ogre." "She shall not marry him, whatever comes," he says, decisively. Walking rapidly homeward, he resolves to write again to Eugene. Miss St. Vincent is pretty, winsome, refined, spirited, too; quite capable of matching Eugene in dignity or pride, which would be so much the better. She is no "meke mayd" to be ground into a spiritless slave. They would have youth, beauty, wealth, be well dowered. He feels as anxious now as he has been disinclined before. A strange interest pervades him, and the rescue of the child brings her so near; it seems as if he could clasp her to his heart as an elder daughter or a little sister. He meets Briggs on horseback, a short distance from the house. "O Mr. Grandon," the man exclaims, "the maid has just come in and Miss Cecil is lost!" "Miss Cecil is safe. Get me the buggy at once. She is all right," as the man looks bewildered. Just at the gate he meets the weeping and alarmed Jane and sends her back with a few words of comfort. The house is in a great commotion, which he quiets as speedily as possible. When Mrs. Grandon finds there is no real danger, she turns upon Floyd. "You spoil the child with your foolish indulgence," she declares. "She pays no attention to any one, she does not even obey Jane." Grandon cannot pause to argue, for the wagon comes around. He is in no mood, either. He cannot tell why, but he feels intuitively that Miss St. Vincent is quite different from the women in his family. He finds everything quite delightful at the eyrie. Cecil and Miss Violet have made fast friends, and Duke, the greyhound, looks on approvingly, though with an amusing tint of jealousy. The child has forgotten her wounds, has had some berries, cake, and milk, and is chattering wonderfully. "What magic have you used?" asks Grandon in surprise. Miss St. Vincent laughs. She hardly looks a day over fifteen, though she is two years older.