The soft voice trailed off into a sob, and the arms tightened about me. I reached down and picked her up, a clinging trembling little form, its gentle curves rounding into womanhood. How she clung to me, poor frightened little soul, her arms tight about me and her cold little face buried against my neck. Then, as I made my way back to the library, she rested quietly, like a white petal blown from the garden and storm-tossed, but at last at peace. I could feel her warm tears and the fresh moist little spot that was her mouth. She seemed to be murmuring something; or did her lips move gently in a kiss? I slowly regained my senses, which seemed to be numbed and deadened but a short time before. My body felt as though pins and needles were sticking me. My breath came more evenly. I held her lithe, supple little form at arm’s length and scanned the features carefully. I could not believe my eyes--was it little Ellen? Could it really be? Yes, the features were almost the exact reproduction of her mother’s. The straight nose, the well formed lips and the appealing grey eyes, fringed with straight, long lashes--all of these I took in at a glance. I was still too weak to drag ourselves far from the assailant, but her weak little voice whispered, “Run, Don Compie! Run!” The frightened look in her eyes and the commanding appeal of the words served to restore my senses. Was it a blow from the opponent that had deadened me or was it the whiskey and soda that had done the trick? It was the dose, because I remembered with what difficulty I aroused myself from the drowsy sleep that was about to overtake me. I held Ellen closer to me and made off as fast as my clumsy feet would move. We were well into the cold woods, through which I had ridden but a few hours before, when she said, “I can walk now, please put me down.” I slid her gently to her feet, she slipped her hand into mine, and we fled as though savages were pursuing us. As we ran she murmured between breaths, “Watkins told me he had seen Uncle Albert put something in the whiskey that was on the table. I was trying to reach you when he seized me. He has kept me a prisoner since I refused to marry him. Today is my birthday and the day you were to become my guardian.” “Yes,” I answered, “but he wrote me you had disappeared--had eloped, been kidnapped or something.” “It wasn’t true--I’ll tell you all about it when we are safe--safe and far from this dreadful place.” We traveled hours before we were on the highway. The damp but invigorating air had restored me and the child seemed possessed of unusual endurance. I espied in the distance a small farm house. A light was shining through a window on the side. The thought came to me that, although it was still dark, perhaps they were preparing breakfast. “Ellen,” I said, “before we go further we must have something to eat.” “Bread and milk will do,” she answered. “Let us inquire here,” I rejoined. “But suppose Uncle Albert should follow us?”