They saw lights moving behind the windows of the lodge, and in response to the squire’s knock a boy opened the door. “I will wait here; send for me if you want me,” said the squire. Olivia passed in, and ran noiselessly up the stairs, and pushed open the half-closed door of Bessie’s room. For a moment she saw only the pretty, innocent face lying white and pale upon the pillow; then as she entered she saw, in the flickering of the solitary candle, a tall figure bending over the bed. It moved as she entered, and, turning, presented the face of Mr. Faradeane. For a moment the two, girl and man, looked at each other, and she saw in that moment that the face was paler even than when she had seen it in the afternoon, and that there was a blood-red mark across the left temple. Alford stood by--stupefied and useless. She drew near the bed, and went down on her knees beside the unconscious girl, and was about to murmur her name when she felt a hand upon her arm, and a voice said in low accents of command. “Don’t speak to her, please.” Olivia looked into the grave, handsome face with a meekness utterly novel and strange to her. “Can I--can I do anything?” she whispered. “Poor Bessie!” “Yes,” he said in the same low, calm tone. “Get me some cold water.” She glided to the water-jug, and poured some out for him, and watched him in a frenzy of anxiety as he bathed the girl’s white forehead. But, great as was her anxiety and excitement, she noticed--and remembered long afterward--how gently and pityingly he did his work. He, the woman-hater! “Is--is she much hurt?” she whispered, after a time. “No,” he whispered, in reply. “She is stunned. Do not be alarmed. She will recover consciousness presently.” “Are you--are you a doctor?” asked Olivia, a few minutes later; and the question was caused by the calm, deliberate way in which he did what was best to be done. He smiled. “No; but it is not the first accident I have seen. She will come to presently. I have sent to Wainford for the doctor. Do not be alarmed; there is no danger.” Almost as soon as he spoke, Bessie opened her eyes, and, after a wild glance or two, fixed them upon the pale, handsome face bending over her. “Is--is he hurt?” she faltered. “Do you mean me?” said Mr. Faradeane. “No, I am not hurt in the least.” Bessie heaved a sigh, then she caught sight of the cut on his temple. “What’s that? You are hurt!” she exclaimed. “That is nothing,” he said, with a smile; “I think you had better not talk.” But Bessie did not agree with him, evidently. “He saved my life--this gentleman, Miss Olivia!” she panted. “I was just falling under the wheel when he stopped Toby, and I saw him go down.” She shuddered. “Yes, Miss Olivia, he saved my life, he did!” and her large, innocent eyes fixed themselves on Mr. Faradeane, and filled with tears. He smiled.