“You will be quite ashamed of talking such nonsense when you have recovered, Miss Bessie,” he said. “Now drink this, will you, please?” and he held a flask of brandy to her lips. She sipped it obediently, her brown eyes fixed upon his with the gratitude, the devotion which one sees in a dumb animal often enough, but in a human, alas! only too seldom. Then, with a sigh, she turned her face away, and closed her eyes. Mr. Faradeane stood upright. “She will be all right now,” he said. “No bones are broken, thank Heaven! It was the shock as much as the blow on the forehead that stunned her.” There was a step on the stair, and the local doctor entered. Mr. Faradeane drew him aside, and gave a short and succinct account of the accident. “Yes, yes,” murmured the doctor, “and you, sir? you seem to have been hurt!” “Not in the least,” said Mr. Faradeane, “not in the very least, thanks,” and, with a bow to Olivia, he passed out of the room. Obeying an impulse she could not resist, Olivia followed him, and, darting at the squire, who was standing outside the lodge door, said: “He--this gentleman--saved Bessie’s life!” The squire started, as well he might, and approached the tall figure. “My daughter tells me, sir,” he said, “that this poor girl owes her life to your courage and presence of mind. I hope you will allow me to express my sense of your bravery. My name is Vanley----” For a moment Mr. Faradeane stood and regarded him with a frank smile; then his face changed suddenly. “No thanks are due, sir; good-night,” he said, gravely, almost sternly; and before another word could be said he raised his hat and passed them. CHAPTER V. THE KEY TO THE RIDDLE. The squire looked after the retreating figure in astonishment, and then at Olivia. She was trembling slightly, and the red and white were chasing each other on her downcast face. “What is the matter? Who was he? Why did he go off like that?” he said. Olivia was silent for a moment. “That is the gentleman who has bought The Dell, papa. Mr. Faradeane.” The squire started. “It was he, was it? And he saved Bessie’s life?” “She says so, papa. He was hurt. Did you see the marks on his forehead?” “No,” said the squire. “I scarcely saw his face, and yet from what I saw of it I should say, emphatically, that he was a gentleman.” “Oh, yes!” murmured Olivia, drawing her shawl round her. “Most certainly a gentleman. It was a striking face. What nonsense was it that Sparrow was talking of a coiner or something of that kind? He could not have seen the man.” “It was not Mr. Sparrow, but Mr. Bradstone, who suggested that Mr. Faradeane was a coiner,” she said in a low voice. “Nonsense!” said the squire, almost impatiently. “That is not the face of a man in hiding from the consequences of some vulgar crime. There was not a trace of vice in it. Sad and melancholy it was, without doubt, but----Why did he go off like that?” Olivia was silent a moment.