But she made no answer. Mr. Martell then questioned his coachman somewhat. "Indade, sir, we was all putty nigh crazy when Mr. Harcourt druv in late last night and said you were safe. He told me to come-over this morning and get your orders, and to have the house ready for yez." "Now that was considerate. I feel, my daughter, that we owe Mr. Harcourt an apology. Do you feel equal to entertaining him at supper?" "I will try, father." "Drive right on up to town," said Mr. Martell, a little later, from the steps of his piazza, "and present my compliments to Mr. Harcourt, and ask him if he will favor us with his company at supper." Alice gave him a shy, grateful glance, and then sought her room. As she was unwrapping herself before her mirror, she noted that a pane of glass in the window near was badly cracked, and that the lace curtain above was torn partially from its fastening. As her maid entered she asked how it happened. The woman in evident confusion answered: "Indeed, miss, I meant to mend the curtain this morning, but I've not had me head straight since last evening." "But how did it happen?" persisted Alice. "Who could have been so rough and careless?" "Well," said the maid, hesitatingly, "it must have been Mr. Harcourt." "Mr. Harcourt!" "Well, you see, miss, he came last night to see you, for one of the girls said he asked for you, and when he found you was out on the river he just seemed beside himself. We was a-lookin' out upstairs, and we first saw the light a-coming up after the tide turned, and we screamed to him and the coachman, and Mr. Harcourt he came upstairs like a gust o' wind. Your door stood open, and in he rushed in a way that I thought he'd break everything." "There, that will do. I understand. You need not mend the curtain. You must be tired after all your fright, and can rest awhile this afternoon, as I shall." A beautiful color dawned in Alice's face. She was recovering from her languor and weakness with marvellous rapidity. It was not strange, for no elixir was ever distilled so potent as that which now infused its subtile spirit into heart and brain. But a few hours before, the wayward but good-hearted companion of her childhood, the manly friend of the present and future,--she would permit herself to think of him in no other light,--had seemed lost to her forever; to have had in fact no real existence; for if Harcourt had been content to act De Forrest's part the evening before, Alice Martell would have soon shaken off even his acquaintance. But De Forrest's words had suggested that the Harcourt of her dreams still existed. She had seen another trace of manly, considerate feeling in his thoughtfulness of the servants' fears, and of their comfort. And now the torn curtain and broken glass suggested the impetuous action of one who thought of her peril rather than of the trifles around him.