"No," I answered, with my eyes upon Lisbeth's lovely, blushing face, "it certainly can't be helped now." "And you'll never do it again?" "Never again, Imp." "Then I forgive you, only why--why did you do it?" "Well, you see, my Imp, I have an old house in the country, a very cosy old place, but it's lonely, horribly lonely, to live by one's self. I've wanted somebody to help me to live in it for a long time, but nobody would you know, Imp. At last our Auntie Lisbeth has promised to take care of the house and me, to fill the desolate rooms with her voice and sweet presence and my empty life with her life. You can't quite understand how much this means to me now, Imp, but you will some day, perhaps." "But are you going to take our Auntie Lisbeth away from us?" cried Dorothy. "Yes, dear," I answered, "but--" "Oh, I don't like that one bit!" exclaimed the Imp. "But you shall come there and stay with us as often as you wish," said Lisbeth. "That would be perfectly beautiful!" cried Dorothy. "Yes, but when?" inquired the Imp gloomily. "Soon," I answered. "Very soon!" said Lisbeth. "Will you promise to be 'Timothy Bone, the bo'sun,' an' the 'Black Knight,' an' 'Little-John' whenever I want you to--so help you Sam, Uncle Dick?" "I will, Imp." "An' make me a long sword with a--a 'deadly point'?" "Yes," I nodded, "and show you some real ones, too." "Real ones?" he cried. "Oh, yes, and armour as well; there's lots of it in the old house, you know." "Let's go now!" he cried, nearly upsetting the boat in his eagerness. "Oh! O Dick!" cried Lisbeth at this moment, "Dick--there's Aunt!" "Aunt?" I repeated. "Aunt Agatha, and she sees us; look!" Turning my head, I beheld a most unexpected sight. Advancing directly upon us was the old boat, that identical, weather-beaten tub of a boat which Lisbeth and I had come so near ending our lives together, the which has already been told in these Chronicles. On the rowing-thwart sat Peter, the coachman, and in the stern-sheets, very grim and stiff in the back, her lorgnettes at her eyes, was Lady Warburton. Escape was quite out of the question, and in half a dozen strokes of the oar we were alongside and close under the battery of the lorgnettes. "Elizabeth," she began in her most ponderous manner, ignoring my presence altogether, "Elizabeth, child, I blush for you." "Then, Aunt, please don't," cried Lisbeth; "I can do quite enough of that for myself. I'm always blushing lately," and as if to prove her words she immediately proceeded to do so. "Elizabeth," proceeded Lady Warburton, making great play with her lorgnettes, "your very shameless, ungrateful letter I received last night. This morning I arose at an objectionably early hour, travelled down in a draughty train, and here I am out on a damp and nasty river in a leaky boat, with my feet horribly wet, but determined to save you from an act which you may repent all your days."