She was quite herself again when we reached St. Agatha's, but at the door she detained me a moment. "I like you, Larry!" she said, taking my hand; and my own mother had not given me sweeter benediction. "I never intended that Helen should play with you. She may serve me as she likes, but I don't want her to singe your wings, Larry." "I have been shot at in three languages, and half drowned in others, and rewards have been offered for me. Do you think I'm going down before a mere matter of _beaux yeux_! Think better of me than that!" "But she is treacherous; she will deliver you to the Philistines without losing a heart-beat." "She could, Miss Patricia, but she won't!" "She has every intention of marrying Gillespie; he's the richest man she knows!" "I swear to you that she shall not marry Gillespie!" "She would do it to annoy me if for nothing else." I took both her hands--they were like rose-leaves, those dear slightly tremulous hands! "Now, Miss Pat--I'm going to call you Miss Pat because we're such old friends, and we're just contemporaries, anyhow--now, Miss Pat, Helen is not half so wicked as she thinks she is. Gillespie and I are on the best of terms. He's a thoroughly good fellow and not half the fool he looks. And he will never marry Helen!" "I should like to know what's going to prevent her from marrying him!" she demanded as I stepped back and turned to go. "Oh, I am, if you must know! I have every intention of marrying her myself!" I ran away from the protest that was faltering upon her lips, and strode through the garden. I had just reached Glenarm gate on my way back to the boat-house when a woman's voice called softly and Sister Margaret hurried round a turn of the garden path. "Mr. Donovan!" There was anxiety in the voice, and more anxious still was Sister Margaret's face as she came toward me in her brown habit, her hands clasped tensely before her. She had evidently been watching for me, and drew back from the gate into a quiet recess of the garden. Her usual repose was gone and her face, under its white coif, showed plainly her distress. "I have bad news--Miss Helen has gone! I'm afraid something has happened to her." "She can't have gone far, Sister Margaret. When did you miss her?" I asked quietly; but I confess that I was badly shaken. My confident talk about the girl with Miss Pat but a moment before echoed ironically in my memory. "She did not come down for breakfast with her aunt or me, but I thought nothing of it, as I have urged both of them to breakfast up-stairs. Miss Patricia went out for a walk. An hour ago I tried Helen's door and found it unlocked and her room empty. When or how she left I don't know. She seems to have taken nothing with her." "Can you tell a lie, Sister Margaret?"