“How like, how strangely like!” she thought, with silent pain. And somehow her thoughts followed him on his way with a kindly interest just for the sake of the frank blue eyes that had looked at her gently like the eyes of her dead lover--dead, but not forgotten. And as Alva’s thoughts followed him with a strange interest, so did the handsome Englishman’s fancy return to her during his brief journey to New York, dwelling with pleasure on her beauty. “What a magnificent creature! The most beautiful American I ever saw! There was soul in those large dark eyes--soul and feeling as of one who has suffered! But what sorrow could come to the beautiful heiress, Miss Beresford?” he wondered, with deep sympathy, resolving that he would be very certain to accept her brother’s invitation, for the sake of seeing her again. She was still in his thoughts, and his blue eyes had a dreamy look as he left the train and sought a carriage to convey him to a hotel. It was late afternoon, and the great city was a Babel of noise and confusion. Shaking off the spell thrown over him by Alva’s charms, he leaned from the window of the carriage, watching the unfamiliar scene with curious eyes. The next moment he became the witness of an accident that thrilled him with alarm. A beautiful young girl, who had attempted to cross the street, had been knocked down by a reckless bicyclist, who, with shameless indifference to what he had done, hurried on his way ere he could be arrested. The girl, who was carrying a small traveling-bag, as though on her way to the station, lay helpless where she had fallen, the blood trickling down her face from a cut on her white temple. In a moment the Englishman had stopped the carriage. He sprung out and caught up the unconscious girl from her perilous position in the middle of the street in the surge of hurrying vehicles, and carried her to the sidewalk. A knot of people gathered around, gazing in pity and admiration at the lovely face in its frame of rippling golden hair. A compassionate woman took some water and bathed the blood from the wounded temple, exclaiming, angrily: “It is a shame that that rude fellow was not arrested for running down this sweet girl! She might have been killed!” She bound a soft white handkerchief about the wound, and continued: “Does anybody know her? She ought to be taken home or to the hospital. Oh! so you are coming to, miss?” The girl had indeed opened two large blue, wondering eyes upon the anxious group that surrounded her. “Are you hurt much?” inquired the kind though loquacious woman, helping Floy--for it was our little heroine--in her efforts to rise. Floy was now on her feet, but ghastly pale and trembling. She answered, faintly: “No, no; only my head. But I feel very weak. I--I must sit down a minute.” “Drink this,” said some one, proffering a glass of water. She looked up into the face of a fair, handsome man, and felt a thrill of subtle pleasure at his gaze.