A girl with golden hair was struggling in the arms of a young fellow, who was doing his best to hold her while he pressed a kiss upon her unwilling lips. And that young fellow was Rolf Harlow! Frank recognized his enemy at a glance, and the sight of the fellow added to the consuming fury burning in his breast. By brute strength, Harlow overcame the girl, and, as he held her helpless in his arms, he laughed triumphantly, crying: “What’s the use to make so much fuss! I won’t hurt you. I was stuck on you the first time I saw you, my little peach, and I made a bet that I’d kiss you within two days. I must do the job now, or lose my bet.” “Then you will lose your bet!” Rolf heard the words, but he had no time to turn and meet Frank, who was right upon him. In a moment, Frank had torn the girl from Harlow’s arms, and planted a hammer-like blow under the fellow’s ear. Merry’s knuckles cracked on the neck of the young ruffian, and Harlow went down as if he had been struck by a club. With the girl on his arm, his fist clinched, Frank stood over Rolf, ready to give him another if he tried to get up. But Harlow lay gasping and quivering on the ground, knocked out for the moment. The girl, who was almost swooning, slipped her soft arm about Frank’s neck, and then, to his astonishment, he heard her whisper: “Frank! Frank! is it you—can it be?” Then he looked at her, and, to his unbounded astonishment and joy, he saw resting against his shoulder the sweet, flower-like face of Elsie Bellwood. Was he dreaming? For a moment it seemed that he must be. He doubted the evidence of his eyes. Was this Elsie, his old-time girl, of whom he had thought so often and so tenderly—Elsie, of whom he had dreamed, and whom he longed to see—Elsie, blue-eyed, golden-haired, trusting and true! How his heart leaped and fluttered! How the love-light leaped into his eyes! How his stern face softened! It was Elsie—dear little Elsie—the old sea captain’s daughter, and, if possible, she was sweeter, prettier, more attractive than when last he had seen her. She was pale when he first looked at her, but as she saw the joyous light of recognition in his eyes, the warm color stole into her cheeks, and she gasped with a delight that was almost childish. “It is!” she panted; “it is Frank—my Frank!” He drew her close to him, forgetting the scoundrel he had knocked down. Both his arms were about her, and for the moment the joy of his heart was too deep for words. She lay in his strong arms, laughing, almost crying, half hysterical, wholly happy. From the terror and despair of a few moments before to relief and joy of the present was so great a revulsion of emotions that she felt herself incapable of any movement or act. It was the same noble fellow she knew so well, only it seemed that he was handsomer and nobler in appearance than ever before. He was older, and there was more than a hint of dawning manhood in his face.