“Only love me, my poor little darling,” he had answered, gently and gravely, in reply to her expressions of gratitude, and she had promised that she would, while, at the same time, she contrasted his noble soul with that of Norman Wylde. “One so noble and high-minded, the other so false and cruel! Oh, Heaven help me to tear his image from my weak womanly heart, and enshrine there this good and noble husband!” she prayed passionately. CHAPTER XXXVI. PLANS FOR THE FUTURE. Two months had passed since Colonel Falconer had taken Pansy away from Richmond. They were summering quietly at a little mountain retreat in the Adirondacks, but his mail was sent to Cape May, and, by an arrangement with the postmaster there, was forwarded to him. He had done this to conceal the place of his residence from Juliette and others, not wishing that any prying eyes should intrude upon their seclusion, for Pansy was still weak and delicate, and her nerves had been sadly shattered by the trying scenes she had gone through. They had taken a little cottage in the mountains, and, with Phebe and a few servants, were keeping house in a simple, quiet way, waiting for the roses to come back to Pansy’s cheeks, that the colonel might leave her long enough to return to Virginia and settle up his business, preparatory to taking up his future residence in Europe. “You will not take Juliette with us? She hates me, and every word and glance has a sting for me. She suspects my identity, in spite of all my denials,” pleaded Pansy. “She shall not go with us,” he said; then a thoughtful frown came between his dark eyebrows. “But what under heaven shall I do with her?” he asked. “Let her stay in the house on Franklin Street with a chaperon,” answered Pansy readily. “That will do very well, I suppose; but I wish she would get married. I should feel better satisfied over her then,” said the colonel, and they both thought at once of Norman Wylde. The color rose to her delicate pearl-fair face in a warm tide of crimson, and Colonel Falconer grew pale, and smothered an oath between his lips. “Pansy, I feel like I ought to kill that fellow for his villainy to you,” he said abruptly. “Let him alone. Heaven will punish him for my wrongs,” she answered, and then, clasping her beautiful hands imploringly, she wailed: “But, oh, my poor, deserted little child, my heart aches when I think of him! If I only had him with me I could be content.” “Do not grow impatient, darling. I have promised to try to get the child for you, but it must be done very quietly, for no one must suspect that we had anything to do with abducting him. He must be abducted, you understand that, do you not, Pansy?” “Yes, for I know well that no amount of bribery would induce Mrs. Meade to give him up, and I dare not assert my legal claim to him,” sighed poor, unhappy Pansy.