At his step on the threshold, both started in amazement, and in a fleeting moment Gipsy was transformed from a lily to a rose, so deep the blush that colored her exquisite face. “Do not say I am intruding--I will not be turned out until I say good-by,” he said bruskly, taking a chair in front of them with easy grace, and continuing: “Miss Darke, I am glad to see you up again. I hope my aunt has conveyed to you some of the expressions of gratitude I entrusted to her charge.” “Oh, yes, yes, Mr. Willoughby--and I am happy to have been of service to you--and Miss Ritchie,” faltered the blushing girl, her radiant glance taking in every detail of his manly beauty with secret, tremulous delight. “But, Laurie,” interpolated his aunt tremulously, “why have you come from the picnic so soon? Where is Lelia?” “Lelia was not feeling very well, Aunt Cyrilla, so--we--came home and left the others to finish out the day. The--the--fact is, I am called away unexpectedly for a time. I have packed my things, told Crawford to get the trap ready to take me to the train, and have just a short time in which to make my adieux. Lelia will tell you why I had to go.” Under his affectation of carelessness, he was pale to the lips, his eyes burned with a somber fire, and his white hands were cold as ice. While he talked he kept looking at Gipsy in the easy chair among the pillows, her lovely face framed by loose, curling tresses, ebony-black and soft as silk. He had never dared gaze at her so long before, and as he looked he seemed to see her again as in the past--the pathetic little midget with big, appealing dark eyes full of love and longing that met no return. His heart swelled as many times before with subtle pity akin to tenderness. Lucinda appeared at the door, beckoning her mistress outside, and the next moment they two were alone. Laurie Willoughby went over to Gipsy, and, stooping suddenly, took her trembling little hand in his, saying, as he pressed it: “Believe me, I am very, very grateful. Always look on me as your true friend, Gipsy, and if I can ever serve you, command me. For the present, I am going far away, and this is our good-by, so please accept as a souvenir of regard this ring, and wear it always for my sake.” Was he mad? Had trouble turned his brain? He was slipping on her finger the splendid engagement-ring Lelia had just returned to him, the ring he was almost certain she would want back to-morrow. But with that subtle gleam in his eyes, he pressed the small, tremulous white hand, adding: “I have put the ring on your hand with a wish, Gipsy. You know the old fashion, don’t you?” “Oh, yes, sir--it must never be removed till the wish is told, or the charm will be broken,” she faltered, trembling like a leaf in the agitation of his presence and at the pressure of his hand.