as landing after such a brief long struggle, his burden in
his arms, on the dreary bank, little dreaming that any spectator was
watching him play the man. Yet there were four--Madame Giche, her
nieces, and Phil, her page; and all four came bearing down upon him,
chair and all, as he laid Inna down among the rough grass a moment, to
just take breath, shake himself, and then home, or the poor mite would
die of cold. Her eyes were closed, and she looked very death-like, as it
was.

"Take her to the house, to the Owl's Nest," came the command, with the
tone of authority, from the depths of Madame Giche's black hood.

"I thought of taking her home," returned Oscar without ceremony.

"Yes, young people think a great many wrong thoughts; but if you take
her to the house, you'll be glad in an hour's time you did an old
woman's bidding," was the decisive reply.

Oscar caught up the insensible girl in his arms in moody silence; truth
to tell, he would be glad to get her into something dry and warm; she
certainly did look death-like.

"Do you know the short cut to the house?" inquired Madame Giche.

"Yes, thank you; I know."

"Can you carry her, or shall Phil help you?"

At this, he might have been the giant-killer in the old nursery tale,
carrying poor little Jack, by the way he took up his burden, and struck
away for the boundary of the park; a curt "No, thank you," ringing back
over his shoulder in scant courtesy as he went.

Then Madame Giche's party turned and went homeward by a less direct
road, because of her chair, and Black Hole was again deserted. Madame
Giche, however, despatched Phil to run forward with her message to the
servants, that the child was to be taken in and attended to; her nieces
propelling her along at a brisk canter, because she wished to be herself
early on the spot. So Phil and Oscar mounted the north terrace together.
Phil gave the alarm, the servants flocked out, and Long, Madame's own
maid, took possession of Inna, and bore her away to her own little room,
next to her mistress's bedchamber, on the first floor. Of course, Oscar
loitered about outside, on the terrace, like a lad in a book, to wait
for tidings; he was there when Madame arrived, and assisted her up the
steps, he on one side, Phil on the other, because a trembling fit,
brought on by the shock, was upon her. A frail little mite of a
gentlewoman was she between the two sturdy lads, her nieces, like meek
little handmaids, followin