She appeared. But I saw at a glance that this was not the same girl who on the night of my arrival had met Wilmer with flying skirts and cries of joy. This girl came out, pale, shrinking, frightened. True, in a breath she was in her father’s arms, she was sobbing in abandonment on his shoulder. But, believe me, in that short interval my desire for vengeance had taken flight; it had vanished at the first sight of her face. The sooner she knew that I was safe, the better! I did not understand her, she was beyond my comprehension, she was still a puzzle. But I knew that she had suffered, and was suffering still. “There, honey, all’s well, all’s well!” Wilmer said, soothing her. I think that for the time he had completely forgotten me and my affairs. “What is it? What’s amiss, child? Here’s your god-father—a big man now! Look up, here’s Marion!” On that I crept away. I felt that I ought not to be looking on. It seemed to be a—well, I gave it no name, but I felt that I had no right to be there, and I went down into the darkness below the veranda, and stood a dozen yards away where I could not hear what passed, or could hear only the one sharp cry that the news of my safety drew from her. Marion’s men had taken the horses round to the cabins, and I was alone. I had the puzzle to amuse me still, if I chose to work upon it; and I had leisure. But it was no longer to my taste and not many minutes passed before Wilmer summoned me. I had no choice then, I had to go up into the room. But so changed were my feelings in regard to this girl that I loathed the necessity. I was as unwilling to face her, as unwilling to shame her, as if I had been the criminal. I would have given many guineas to be a hundred miles away. I might have spared my scruples for she was not there, she was not to be seen. Instead, I met the men’s eyes; they glanced at me, then away again. They looked disconcerted. For my part I affected to be dazzled by the light. “It has been a little too much for my daughter,” Wilmer said. “I don’t quite understand what happened,” he continued awkwardly, “but she seems to think, Major—she seems to have got it into her head—” “It was a shock to Miss Wilmer,” I said. “And no wonder! I am not the steadier for it myself.” “Just so,” he replied slowly. “Of course. But she’s got an idea that she did not do all—” “I hope that they did not strike her,” I said. It was a happy thought. It suggested a state of things, wholly different from that which was in their minds. Wilmer’s face lightened. “What?” he said. “Do you mean that there was any appearance of—of that?” “A cur like that!” I said contemptuously. “A devil of a fellow in a tavern!” I looked at Marion whose silence and steady gaze embarrassed me. “Or among women!” “Ah!”