Over and over again the little frightened girl tried to devise some plan, but all in vain; till this night of the foggy winter she was crossing the street, rejoicing that he was so near home, when there was a shout, a horse's hot breath was upon her cheek, and she was sent staggering sideways, and would have fallen had not the muffled-up figure been at hand, caught her in his arms, and borne her to the pavement, while the cab disappeared in the yellow mist. "My own darling! Are you hurt?" he cried passionately. "Hendon! You!" she panted. "Yes, I," he said. "You are hurt!" "No, no," she cried; "only frightened. The horse struck my shoulder. But--but was it you who followed every night all the way home?" "Yes," he said, coldly now, "you knew it was." "I did not," she retorted angrily; and then in half hysterical terms, "how dare you go on frightening me night after night like this? It has been horrible. You have made me ill." "Made you ill?" he said. "How could I let you go about all alone these dark evenings? I was forbidden to talk to you as I wished, but there was no reason why I should not watch over you. How's Mark?" "Getting better," said Janet, drawing a breath of relief at her companion's sudden change in the conversation; for she felt that had he continued in that same sad reproachful strain she must have hung upon his arm, and sobbed and thanked him for his chivalrous conduct. There was something, too, so sweet in the feeling that he must love her very dearly in spite of all the rebuffs he had received; and somehow as they walked on, a gleam of sunny yellow came through the misty greys and dingy drabs with which from her mental colour-box she had been tingeing her future life. There was even a dash of ultramarine, too--a brighter blue than her eyes--and her heart began to beat quite another tune. "May I come and walk home with you every night?" said Hendon at last, as, after repeated assurances that she was not hurt, they stopped at last at the street door. "No," she said decidedly; and her little lips were tightly compressed, so that they should not give vent to a sob. "How cruel you are, Janet!" "For trying to do what is right," she said firmly. "What would your sister say if, after all that has passed, I were to be so weak?" "May I follow you at a distance, as I have done all this time?" he pleaded. "No. You have only frightened me almost to death," she replied. "Will you come up and see poor Mark?" "Not to-night," he said bitterly; "I couldn't bear it now. Janet, if I go to the bad, it won't be all my fault. I know I'm a weak fellow, but with something to act as ballast, I should be all right. What have I done that you should be so cold?" For answer, Janet held out her hand.