He was astonished at the headlong force of this sweet new passion. His heart and his mind were full of the lovely dark-eyed girl, with her cloud of curling, dark hair, her rare red lips, her sweet, tremulous smile, her small, dimpled, white hands that looked so weak, yet were so strong to do and dare in heroic fashion. He longed every moment to see her again, to clasp her to his heart, to declare his love, to woo her for his bride. Yet he restrained his ardor, telling himself he would wait till Lelia’s visit was over before he returned to The Crags to woo Gipsy Darke. Better be fairly off with the old love before he sought the new. On all these springing hopes and dreams came the announcement of the tragic disappearance of Gipsy Darke, falling on his heart with crushing force, shrouding it in the dark pall of despair. CHAPTER XIX. HE COULD NEVER FORGET HER NOW. Laurie would never forget his return to The Crags that starless, moonless, sultry summer night, with the gloom of death seeming to brood darkly over the whole world. Crawford, who met him at the station with a carriage, assured him that Miss Willoughby was critically ill. She was lying in a stupor, recognizing no one. Doctor White frankly owned that he feared brain fever. Laurie talked to the mulatto the whole way to The Crags, trying to get at every particular of the tragedy. The crime had, no doubt, been committed for revenge by the diamond-burglars who had escaped from the prison at Lewisburg, where they were awaiting trial, Crawford said, and the idea was so plausible that it took hold on Laurie’s mind, too. He accepted it as conclusive. In a burst of despair he vowed he would spend every dollar of his fortune to bring the dastardly criminals to justice. “Has nothing been done yet? No detective employed, no reward offered?” he asked the man sternly. Crawford replied, readily, that he knew of no steps being taken yet. Miss Willoughby was naturally the one to take the lead in such efforts, but in her illness nothing could be done. “I will see to it to-morrow. This terrible crime shall not go unpunished,” vowed Laurie. The next moment the dull light of the carriage-lamps flickered on the wide gates of The Crags, and Crawford reined up the horses. “Whoa, Saint! Whoa, Satan! Whoa!” he cried. At the words a pang like death tore through Laurie’s heart. How they brought back that terrible moment so fraught with danger, when the maddened horses, rearing upright, toppled on the brink of the deadly precipice, to hurl himself and Lelia to instant destruction, when a girl’s sweet voice ringing on the air, and her small, white hand grappling at their bits, had arrested the impending tragedy and saved two lives. Laurie would never forget those terrible moments, to his whole life’s end; nor the girl who had paid so costly a price for her bravery.