"Take care of Philip, and I will go to him," said Frances. "Don't be frightened, Fluff; my father often sleeps heavily. Philip, let me introduce my little cousin, Ellen Danvers. Now, Nelly, be on your best behavior, for Philip is an old friend, and a person of importance." "But we had better come back to the house with you, Frances," said Arnold. "Your father may be really ill. Miss--Miss Danvers seems alarmed." "But I am not," said Frances, smiling first at Philip and then at her little cousin. "Fluff--we call this child Fluff as a pet name--does not know my father as I do. He often sleeps heavily, and when he does his face gets red, and he looks strange. I know what to do with him. Please don't come in, either of you, for half an hour. Supper will be ready then." She turned away, walking rapidly, and a bend in the avenue soon hid her from view. Little Ellen had not yet quite recovered her breath. She stood holding her hand to her side, and slightly panting. "You seem frightened," said Arnold, kindly. "It is not that," she replied. Her breath came quicker, almost in gasps. Suddenly she burst into tears. "It's all so dreadful," she said. "What do you mean?" said Arnold. To his knowledge he had never seen a girl cry in his life. He had come across very few girls while in Australia. One or two women he had met, but they were not particularly worthy specimens of their sex; he had not admired them, and had long ago come to the conclusion that the only perfect, sweet, and fair girl in existence was Frances Kane. When he saw Fluff's tears he discovered that he was mistaken--other women were sweet and gracious, other girls were lovable. "Do tell me what is the matter," he said, in a tone of deep sympathy; for these fast-flowing tears alarmed him. "I'm not fit for trouble," said Fluff. "I'm afraid of trouble, that's it. I'm really like the butterflies--I die if there's a cloud. It is not long since I lost my mother, and--now, now--I know the squire is much more ill than Frances thinks. Oh, I know it! What shall I do if the squire really gets very ill--if he--he dies? Oh, I'm so awfully afraid of death!" Her cheeks paled visibly, her large, wide-open blue eyes dilated; she was acting no part--her terror and distress were real. A kind of instinct told Arnold what to say to her. "You are standing under these great shady trees," he said. "Come out into the sunshine. You are young and apprehensive. Frances is much more likely to know the truth about Squire Kane than you are. She is not alarmed; you must not be, unless there is really cause. Now is not this better? What a lovely rose! Do you know, I have not seen this old-fashioned kind of cabbage rose for over ten years!" "Then I will pick one for you," said Fluff.