"Pray do not mention it again!" said Rowan. "Indeed I am only too happy that the little affair occurred." He was telling the truth, beyond a question, however far he might have been from telling what they equally require in the courts of law--the _whole_ truth; and again for one instant there might have been seen sweeping over his face the same changing expression that had played hide-and-seek there on his first arrival the evening before:--admiration--regard--reverence--hope--joy; and then the dull shadow of recollection and hopelessness. Clara Vanderlyn, too, whether she had or had not remarked him on that occasion--Clara Vanderlyn saw and read his face now! Her eyes fixed for one moment full upon his, then drooped, and the rich blood crept up to brow, neck, and bosom, from which it had been expelled by the temporary fright. For an instant she was silent, and seemed to be studying; then she drew from the little reticule which hung upon her arm a card-case, took out a card, and handed it to Rowan, with a still more conscious blush, her old smile, and the words: "I am aware, sir, that this is a singular introduction, and on my part a painful one, as it has been the means of causing you an injury; but my mother and my brother will be glad to know you and to thank you better than I can do." "Miss Vanderlyn," said Rowan, taking the card and glancing at the name just as earnestly as if he had never paid any attention whatever to the register at the office, "you do me too much honor. I have no card in my pocket. Would you be kind enough to give me another of yours?" She at once handed him another card and a pencil, and he dashed down, in a bold, rapid, and mercantile hand, though he used the sinister member for the operation, the name and address which the little black trunk had before revealed to those who chose to read. "Thank you, Mr. Rowan. Good-morning! Pray take care of your hand, or I shall never forgive myself!" she said, nodding to her new acquaintance, and turning towards the house. Rowan bowed low, said good-morning, and strolled away towards the ten-pin alley, apparently not more concerned by the hurt than if he had merely pricked his finger. He was one of those booked for the ride to the Flume, but he seemed to need severer exercise, and the moment after he might have been seen with his hand still wrapped in the bloody white handkerchief, bowling away at the pins with the other, and humming the Grand March in "Norma" as if he thought that a favorable strain of music to accompany the levelling of obstacles or enemies.