Alone with her he expressed himself more fully, saying that the sight of her fair young face made his home brighter than it would otherwise be, and he could not let her go. He offered no endearment, only his eyes told what he felt, and Connie turned from him in disgust, resolved now upon her future course. She would take her maid, who was a French girl, with her to Paris, leave her there, sail alone from Havre to New York, and go at once to the Stannards, if they would have her. From this nothing could dissuade her, neither her aunt’s protests nor the count’s soft, pleading words, which made her more determined than ever to get away from a place she hated. She was going to America, and before her aunt fully realized the fact she had left Genoa, and the first ship bound for New York which sailed from Havre in March took her with it,—a white-faced, lone girl, who was sick most of the time, but comforted herself with the thought that she was going home to America and the farmhouse and Kenneth. He was the central figure, whom she always saw in the foreground and through whom comfort would somehow come. She had no doubt of her welcome, and within an hour after she reached New York and her hotel, she sent a telegram to Kenneth, saying: “Arrived on steamer this morning. Shall be at Millville station to-night. CONNIE.” CHAPTER XI CONNIE’S ARRIVAL March that year came in like a roaring lion, and continued to roar at intervals for two weeks, when it gathered its forces together for a farewell which should outdo all that had gone before. For three days the storm continued, until the tops of the fences were covered and roads were cut through the fields in some places, as the highways were blocked with drifts. And still the snow fell in great billowy clouds, which the wind drove before it through the valleys and over the hills of Millville. Nearly all day Kenneth had been gone, as he had been called in consultation with Dr. Catherin at Rocky Point, and it was not until five o’clock that he reached home, where he found Connie’s telegram. “Coming to-night on the six o’clock train, which is sure to be late,” he exclaimed, with a thrill of delight, and no thought of the trouble it would be to meet her. “Father will go to the train, you are so tired,” his mother said, but had he been ten times as fatigued as he was, Kenneth would not have foregone the pleasure of meeting Connie. “The house is as warm as it can be,” he said, felicitating himself upon the fact that there was now a furnace in the cellar, with sundry other modern improvements since Connie was there.