He did so, and a few masterly strokes gave the sketch what it needed. As he bent near her to do this, Helen stole a glance at the grave, dark face, and suddenly a disturbed look dawned in the eyes fixed on the glossy black locks pushed off the courier’s forehead, for he had removed his hat when she spoke to him. He seemed to feel that something was amiss, shot a quick glance at her, returned the pencil and rose erect, with an almost defiant air, yet something of shame in his eye, as his lips moved as if to speak impetuously. But not a word did he utter, for Helen touched her forehead significantly, and said in a low tone,— “I am an artist; let me recommend Vandyke brown, which is _not_ affected by heat.” Hoffman looked over his shoulder at the other pair, but Amy was making an ivy wreath for her hat, and the Pole pulling sprays for the absorbing work. Speaking rapidly, Karl said, with a peculiar blending of merriment, humility, and anxiety in his tone,— “Mademoiselle, you are quick to discover my disguise; will you also be kind in concealing? I have enemies as well as friends, whom I desire to escape; I would earn my bread unknown; Monsieur le Major keeps my foolish secret; may I hope for equal goodness from yourself?” “You may, I do not forget that I owe my life to you, nor that you are a gentleman. Trust me, I never will betray you.” “Thanks, thanks! there will come a time when I may confess the truth and be myself, but not yet,” and his regretful tone was emphasized by an impatient gesture, as if concealment was irksome. “Nell, come down to lunch; uncle is signalling as if he’d gone mad. No, monsieur, it is quite impossible; you cannot reach the harebells without risking too much; come away and forget that I wanted them.” Amy led the way, and all went down more quietly than they came up, especially Helen and Hoffman. An excellent lunch waited on one of the tables in front of the old gateway, and having done justice to it, the major made himself comfortable with a cigar, bidding the girls keep near, for they must be off in half an hour. Hoffman went to see to the horses, Casimer strolled away with him, and the young ladies went to gather wild flowers at the foot of the tower. “Not a harebell here; isn’t it provoking, when they grow in tufts up there, where one can’t reach them. Mercy, what’s that? Run, Nell, the old wall is coming down!” Both had been grubbing in a damp nook, where ferns and mosses grew luxuriantly; the fall of a bit of stone and a rending sound above made them fly back to the path and look up. Amy covered her eyes, and Helen grew pale, for part way down the crumbling tower, clinging like a bird to the thick ivy stems, hung Casimer, coolly gathering harebells from the clefts of the wall. “Hush; don’t cry out or speak; it may startle him. Crazy boy! Let us see what he will do,” whispered Helen.