“Then tell me all about it.” And it seemed to him that all unconsciously to herself she nestled confidingly closer to his side. He also leaned nearer, so that their heads were very, very close, so close that his warm breath ruffled the strands of her curly hair and swept her cheek, as he began: “In the first place, I was seriously annoyed yesterday when I heard you answer Miss Maury’s challenge, by declaring that you would spend the night alone in the haunted house--I believe it is said to be haunted, is it not? Although I was almost a stranger to you, and you seemed to avoid me somehow, I determined to seek an opportunity to dissuade you from your purpose, and to tell you frankly how imprudent such an adventure would be. I even determined that if you refused to listen to me I would seek out your parents and acquaint them with your girlish folly.” “But I have no parents--only adopted ones, you know.” “Yes; I heard the story of your life to-day from a young man who seemed to admire you very much,” returned Beresford; adding: “But of course that made no difference, as your adopted parents would exercise the same authority over you as your own.” Floy remained demurely silent, smiling to herself at the thought of how those dear adopted parents always humored her every madcap whim. “Said Brier-Rose’s mother to the naughty Brier-Rose: ‘Whatever will become of you the Lord Almighty knows! You will not scrub the kettles, and you will not touch the broom, You never sit a minute still at spinning-wheel or loom!’ “And oft the maiden cried when Brier-Rose went by: ‘You can not knit a stocking, you can not make a pie!’ But Brier-Rose, as was her wont, she cocked a curly head, ‘But I can sing a pretty song,’ full merrily she said.” “But,” continued the speaker, “after that came your sensational plunge into the water, frightening every one out of their wits. When the funny farce of saving you was over, and I went back for dry clothes, that telegram drove everything else out of my mind for awhile--even _you_,” tenderly. Floy did not answer a word; she listened attentively, thinking how sweet and musical his voice sounded, and how sorry she was that this charming drive would soon be over. She could have gone on, and on, and on with him forever. But the cross driver, not sharing her predilections, swore at his horses and whipped them up impatiently, while Beresford added: “The telegram drove everything else out of my mind until I retired, when I fell asleep and dreamed of you.” CHAPTER X. “SLEEPING, I DREAMED, LOVE!” “I dreamed of you,” repeated Beresford, bending lower over the girl until her fragrant breath floated up to him, and the magnetism of her nearness enveloped him in an atmosphere of passionate bliss. “I dreamed, little Floy, that you and I were alone together, walking in the most beautiful rose garden in the world.” “Oh!” cried Floy, with a delicious start, throwing up her little hands.