"Did he?" in surprise. "I shouldn't have thought he could." A cold nose was thrust into her hand, and she surprised herself by bursting into tears. "Dear old Wiggles," she sobbed, and then—"I'm sorry to be stupid." "It's all right; don't mind. Try not to think about things yet." He slipped the string once more through Wiggles' collar, and looked at her with solicitude. "You are sure you can walk?" "Of course I can!" indignantly. "Please don't tell Barbara I cried. It's only—if you knew what it was—" "I know. Not many girls would have shown such pluck," and the admiration in his voice brought a smile to her lips. "You were splendidly brave. Of course you are shaken now. Suppose you try to make Wiggles understand that we want to go home." This acted as a diversion, and she was soon her usual self, though pale. Giles explained how it was that he had come to Midfell; and Wiggles proved a reliable guide, so that in no long time they reached the farm, where they were glad to get rid of encasing mud. A man was despatched to bring clean clothing for both, and later they reached Burn Cottage, where extreme anxiety had reigned. The old lady listened in agitated thankfulness to the tale of her grandchild's narrow escape; and her gratitude to Giles knew no bounds. She held his hand in her soft withered palms, tears in her eyes, words trembling on her lips. She folded her restored darling in a close embrace—no common action for one so undemonstrative—and prayed and wept over her. Phyllys shed tears also, and realised how dear the old grandmother was, despite certain misunderstandings. What Barbara felt at this outcome of her scheming did not so fully appear. A word of blame with regard to Phyllys' "stupidity" in not keeping clear of the bog received settlement at the hand of Giles. "Phyllys ought not to have been allowed to go at all," he said; and Barbara understood. She fumed, but was silent. This event put the presence of Giles in Midfell on a new footing. The cousin to whom Mrs. Wyverne owed Phyllys' life could not be held at arms' length. Let his opinions be what they might, he had earned a right to come in and out. For once, Barbara and Miss Robins were powerless to touch the old lady's determination. Her thankful joy was too deep not to find expression. During his week at the Inn, he made the best of his opportunity. He and Phyllys strolled about the fields together, had long walks together, talked together endlessly,—though in such talks hers was the lion's share, and he acted the part of charmed listener. He was not a man of many words. These days of intercourse settled the question for him. Before the week ended, he loved Phyllys, loved her with his whole being. She was not, perhaps, his first fancy, but she was his first true love. She might be his last.