Sensible as Hench usually was, some power--he presumed it was the power of love---swept him off his feet, and he credited the girl with all the virtues of the angels, and with their beauty also. He was glad that he had saved her, as she would be grateful; he was glad that he had hurt himself, as she would pity him; and he was decidedly glad that he had concealed the relationship. Now, at least, there was every chance that he would be able to make a friend of her. Not that he wanted to halt at friendship. He was now firmly bent upon making her his wife, and thus would be able to fulfil Mr. Gilberry's prophecy and end the family feud in quite an agreeable and romantic way. All the night Owain was building castles in the air, and when the dawn came they were still firm. Only on the arrival of the doctor to examine his ankle did the young man descend from these Olympian heights. Then, with a sudden and very natural reaction, he began to think that he had been too premature in his building. The result of this was disastrous to Gwen. She called at mid-day to see how he was getting on, and he received her coldly, while lying on the slippery horse-hair sofa in Mrs. Bell's tiny sitting-room. The girl, flushed with the romance of the whole adventure and struck anew with the splendid looks of her preserver, felt chilled by his calm politeness. The two talked in a more or less formal way and parted very soon. Gwen went back to tell Mrs. Perage that her hero was horrid, and her hero remained on his sofa trying to assure himself that he had rescued only an ordinary girl. But it was all of no use, for Nature would have her way. During the next few days the two met under the chaperonage of the widow Bell, and gradually became aware that the feelings they entertained towards one another were more than those of mere friendship. Of course this knowledge made them more stiff and formal than ever in their intercourse, as their conversation was confined to commonplace subjects, not likely to awaken emotion. Hench was anxious to ask his cousin about her father, but as she said nothing, he did not venture to broach the matter. Still, remembering that she had been clothed in white on the day of the accident, and seeing that her frocks since, beyond black ribbons, did not suggest mourning in any great degree, he came to the conclusion that she had not been particularly attached to her father, although he could not be quite sure. But all doubts on this question were set aside by Mrs. Perage, who placed matters very plainly before him, according to her somewhat grim custom.