rival. In the course
of the performance a cry of "Fire!" rang out, and a panic ensued. Graham
remained quite cool until he saw a young girl struck from her
protector's arms and hurled under the feet of the crowd. Then he rushed
forward, thrust back the throng with the assistance of the gentleman--a
powerful man, though grey-haired--and bore the girl into the fresh
night, I following him closely.

"She is very light," he said; "like a child."

"I am not a child! I am a person of seventeen!" responded his burden,
demurely.

Her father's carriage drove up, and Graham, having introduced himself as
an English doctor, we drove to the hotel where father and daughter were
staying in handsome apartments. The injuries were not dangerous, and the
father, after earnestly expressing his obligations to Graham, asked him
to call the next day.

When next I visited the Bretton's chateau I found an intruder in the
room I had occupied during my illness.

"Miss de Bassompierre, I pronounced, recognising the rescued lady, whose
name I had heard on the night of the accident.

"No," was the reply. "Not Miss de Bassompierre to you." Then, as I
seemed at fault, she added: "You have forgotten, then, that I have sat
on your knee, been lifted in your arms, even shared your pillow. I am
Paulina Mary Home de Bassompierre."

I often visited Mary de Bassompierre with pleasure. That young lady had
different moods for different people. With her father she was even now a
child. With me she was serious and womanly. With Mrs. Bretton she was
docile and reliant. With Graham she was shy--very shy. At moments she
tried to be cold, and, on occasion, she endeavoured to shun him. Even
her father noticed this demeanour in her, and asked her what her old
friend had done.

"Nothing," she replied; "but we are grown strange to each other."

I became apprised of the return of M. de Bassompierre and Paulina, after
a few weeks' absence in Paris, by seeing them riding before me in a
quiet boulevard with Dr. Bretton. How animated was Graham's face! How
true, yet how retiring the joy it expressed! They parted. He passed me
at speed, hardly feeling the earth he skimmed, and seeing nothing on
either hand.

It was after this that she made me her confession of love, and of fear
lest her father should be grieved.

"I wish papa knew! I do wish papa knew!" began now to be her anxious
murmur; but it was M. de Bassompierre who first broached the subject of
his daught