"I had inducement enough," she returned, with a slight sigh. "Donald had been in one of his worst moods all day--one of his mean, suspicious tempers, and I could not persuade him to go to bed till late. Then, I opened the study window, and looked out to breathe and grow tranquil before I tried to sleep then the memory of the moonlight nights long ago, when I used to sit in a corner by the window, before the lamp was brought, and listen to my father talking (rather dreaming aloud--oh, so gloriously!) came over me with a wild, irresistible longing to be out in the free air, alone and standing upright before heaven, with things _really_ greater than myself about me--_such_ an intense longing that I sprang down the steps and away." As she said the last word she unclasped her hands and threw one out with a sudden, expressive gesture full of grace, and not without a certain dignity. "But I suppose to you it seems shocking?" And again she turned to the fire. "By no means!" exclaimed Wilton, eagerly. "Pray do not imagine me a slave to 'the shocking.' What you do seems right and natural in you to an extraordinary degree; but every one may not view matters as I do, and I confess I wished to escort you back, but dared not intrude--besides, I was not alone." "Escort me back!" she replied, with a low, sweet laugh of genuine merriment. "That would have put a climax to my misdoings, and also (pardon the rudeness) destroyed the sense of freedom. As it was, my outbreak was severely rebuked by Miss Walker, who was informed of my absence, and talked yards of sense and propriety before I escaped to bed. Ah, what a degrading _finale_ to a moment's outbreak into light and liberty! But I must not quarrel with Miss Walker. She is 'Madonna dell' Esperanza.'" There was a wonderful charm in her voice and manner, a curious mixture of softness and daring. "And pray why do you dignify that iron-gray woman with so romantic a title? I should not imagine her in the least hopeful." "She found me when I was at a very low ebb, and placed me with Donald." "Indeed! Then he ought to consider her his 'Dame de bon Secours.'" "He thinks I am fortunate." "And, when you found yourself so far from human aid that night, did you not feel uncomfortable?" resumed Wilton, hoping to lead her back to her reminiscences. "Yes. When I turned to go back the fire had nearly burnt out in my heart; but, you see, I have never been with women, so their fears are not mine. I fear what they may think of me when I act differently from them." "I suppose, then, you have numerous brothers?"