ins," said Derrick,
communing with himself on the Knoll Road after their interview--"a few
drops of Barholm's rich, comfortable, stupid blood in Grace's veins
would not harm him. And yet it would have to be but a few drops indeed,"
hastily. "On the whole I think it would be better if he had more blood
of his own."

The following day Miss Barholm came. Business had taken Derrick to the
station in the morning, and being delayed, he was standing upon the
platform when one of the London trains came in. There were generally so
few passengers on such trains who were likely to stop at Riggan, that
the few who did so were of some interest to the bystanders. Accordingly
he stood gazing, in rather a preoccupied fashion, at the carriages, when
the door of a first-class compartment opened, and a girl stepped out
upon the platform near him. Before seeing her face one might have
imagined her to be a child of scarcely more than fourteen or fifteen.
This was Derrick's first impression; but when she turned toward him he
saw at once that it was not a child. And yet it was a small face, with
delicate oval features, smooth, clear skin, and stray locks of hazel
brown hair that fell over the low forehead. She had evidently made a
journey of some length, for she was encumbered with travelling wraps,
and in her hands she held a little flower-pot containing a cluster of
early blue violets,--such violets as would not bloom so far north as
Riggan for weeks to come. She stood upon the platform for a moment or
so, glancing up and down as if in search of some one, and then, plainly
deciding that the object of her quest had not arrived, she looked at
Derrick in a business-like, questioning way. She was going to speak to
him. The next minute she stepped forward without a shadow of girlish
hesitation.

"May I trouble you to tell me where I can find a conveyance of some
sort?" she said. "I want to go to the Rectory."

Derrick uncovered, recognizing his friend's picture at once.

"I think," he said with far more hesitancy than she had herself shown,
"that this must be Miss Barholm."

"Yes," she answered, "Anice Barholm. I think," she said, "from what Mr.
Grace has said to me, that you must be his friend."

"I am _one_ of Grace's friends," he answered, "Fergus Derrick."

She managed to free one of her small hands, and held it out to him.

She had arrived earlier than had been expected, it turned out, and
through some mysterious chance or other, h