“Daughters, I believe--I heard some one say that there were two. What a misogynist you are getting! Why shouldn’t the man have daughters if he likes? I really believe that there are two of them.” There was a contemptuous snort, and a moment’s silence. They were exactly opposite to me now, but the hedge and the shadow of the laurels beneath which I was standing completely shielded me from observation. The man’s huge form stood out with almost startling distinctness against the grey sky. He was lashing the thistles by the side of the road with his long whip. “Maybe!” he growled. “I’ve seen but one--a pale-faced, black-haired chit.” I smothered a laugh. I was the pale-faced, black-haired chit, but it was scarcely a polite way of alluding to me, Mr. Bruce Deville. When they had gone by I leaned over the gate again, and watched them vanish amongst the shadows. The sound of their voices came to me indistinctly; but I could hear the deep bass of the man as he slung some scornful exclamation out upon the moist air. His great figure, looming unnaturally large through the misty twilight, was the last to vanish. It was my first glimpse of Mr. Bruce Deville of Deville Court. I turned round with a terrified start. Almost at my side some heavy body had fallen to the ground with a faint groan. A single step, and I was bending over the prostrate form of a man. I caught his hand and gazed into his face with horrified eyes. It was my father. He must have been within a yard of me when he fell. His eyes were half closed, and his hands were cold. Gathering up my skirts in my hand, I ran swiftly across the lawn into the house. I met Alice in the hall. “Get some brandy!” I cried, breathlessly. “Father is ill--out in the garden! Quick!” She brought it in a moment. Together we hurried back to where I had left him. He had not moved. His cheeks were ghastly pale, and his eyes were still closed. I felt his pulse and his heart, and unfastened his collar. “There is nothing serious the matter--at least I think not,” I whispered to Alice. “It is only a fainting fit.” I rubbed his hands, and we forced some brandy between his lips. Presently he opened his eyes, and raised his head a little, looking half fearfully around. “It was her voice,” he whispered, hoarsely. “It came to me through the shadows! Where is she? What have you done with her? There was a rustling of the leaves--and then I heard her speak!” “There is no one here but Alice and myself,” I said, bending over him. “You must have been fancying things. Are you better?” “Better!” He looked up at both of us, and the light came back into his face. “Ah! I see! I must have fainted!” he exclaimed. “I remember the study was close, and I came to get cool. Yet, I thought--I thought----” I held out my arm, and he staggered up. He was still white and shaken, but evidently his memory was returning.