nd and Molly were left alone.

"How well you run!" he said, smiling.

"Yes; even without a ferocious dog behind me I can run fairly well," she
said. "But I wish you had let me get over that wall alone. And I wish
they could have spared that splendid animal."

"After all, he would have been shot whether we had been there or not,"
said Edmund. "My only bad moment was listening for the crash of broken
glass and thinking that you were cut to pieces."

"You are sure that you have not hurt yourself?" Her grey eyes were large
with anxiety.

Edmund, laughing, held up his hand, which was bleeding.

"I see I have sustained a serious injury of which I was not aware in the
excitement of the crisis."

Molly examined his hand with a professional air. Edmund let her wash it
with her handkerchief dipped in the glass of water, and bind it with his
own. Her touch was light and skilful, and it would have been absurd to
refuse to let her do it. But, as holding his wrist she raised it a
little higher to turn her bandage under it, her small, lithe, thin hand
was close to his face, and he gave it the slightest kiss.

Any girl who had been abroad would have taken it as little more than the
merest politeness, but to Molly it came as a surprise. A glow of quick,
deep joy rose within her; her cheeks did not blush, for this was a
feeling too peaceful, too restful for blushes or any sort of discomfort.

"This young lady can run like a deerhound," said Edmund, "and bandage
like a surgeon."

"But that's about all she can do," laughed Molly. "Ah! there"--she could
not quite hide the regret in her voice--"there are Lady Groombridge and
Lady Rose."

CHAPTER XII

MOLLY'S NIGHT WATCH

That night Molly could write it on the tablets of her mind that she had
passed a nearly perfect day. The evening had not promised to be as happy
as the rest, but it had held a happy hour. Mrs. Delaport Green had made
a masterly descent just in time for dinner. Molly smiled at the thought
when alone in her room. A beautiful tea-gown had expressed the invalid,
and was most becoming.

"Every one has been so kind, dear Lady Groombridge; really, it is a
temptation to be ill in this house--everything so perfectly done."

Lady Groombridge most distinctly grunted.

"Why is toothache so peculiarly hard to bear?" She turned to Edmund
Grosse.

"It wants a good deal of philosophy certainly, especially when one's
face swells; but yours, fortunately, has not