"My God! a trance? Yes, you _did_ look natural. Mrs. Churchman remarked upon it before she left me alone with you." "I heard what she said," Kathleen answered, shuddering, and Ralph Chainey put his arm about her and drew her closer, murmuring: "Did you hear what I said, too, my bonnie Kathleen?" "Yes," she answered, trembling in a sort of ecstasy and feeling warm blushes redden her cheeks as she whispered: "You kissed me--you wept over me--you--said--said--that you loved me!" "And you, sweet Kathleen? Were you vexed at me for my presumption?" questioned the young man, drawing her closer with a fond but reverent arm. "No; oh, no!" faltered the girl, shyly, yet blissfully. "And you will let me tell you the same thing over, darling Kathleen, that I worship you, and you will promise me, dear, to be my own sweet wife? Yes, is it not, my own one? There, do not draw away from me in fear. One kiss, my own love, my beautiful treasure, given back to me from the grave itself!" Then one kiss became a dozen. He pressed her close to his heart, and she rested there with a blissful sigh, happy in this haven of rest. Presently: "Now, darling, you may tell me all your story; then I have a startling proposition to make to you," he said. From what she had said to him about taking her home to her father, he perceived that she was entirely ignorant of all that had transpired since her supposed death. She was mercifully ignorant of her father's loss at sea, and the will made in London just before he sailed, disinheriting his only daughter, and giving her portion of his wealth to Alpine Belmont. Poor little Kathleen, who believed that she had still a loving father and was the heiress to all his wealth, was in reality orphaned and penniless--a beggar in reality. But Ralph Chainey, in the greatness of his noble heart, decided to spare her the pain of knowing all this yet, and he could see but one way out of the difficulty--one very agreeable to himself, and not unkind to the lovely waif so strangely thrown on his protecting care. He knew well that the selfish Belmonts would refuse to care for the homeless girl, would deny her identity, refuse to admit her claims on them. He determined to propose an immediate marriage to Kathleen, by which her future could be made secure. CHAPTER XVIII. KATHLEEN'S DISAPPEARANCE. "Ay, call her on the barren moor, And call her on the hill; 'Tis nothing but the heron's cry, And plover's answer shrill." Kathleen told her lover, between sobs and tears, while she rested close in the shelter of his loving arms, all her sad story. Ralph Chainey listened with bated breath, his eyes dim with moisture, to the story of Kathleen's persecutions. "What stupid people they must have been at the asylum not to listen to your strange story! I will have them indicted for unlawfully detaining you!" he exclaimed indignantly. "Never mind that, as they can never find me again," she replied, happily.