r your hands
are washed, they will feel so much better. It will hurt only a little,
and you will be white and clean again."

She proceeds with her work as she talks. Cecil winces a little, and her
eyes overflow with tears, but beyond an occasional convulsive sob she
does not give way. The arm is bandaged with some cooling lotion, and
Denise brings her mistress a little cream to anoint the scratched
hands. Floyd Grandon has been watching the deft motions of the soft,
swift fingers, that make a sort of dazzle of dimples. It certainly is a
lovely hand.

"Now, does it not feel nice?" Then she washes the tears from the face,
and wipes it with a soft towel that is like silk. "You were very good
and brave."

Cecil, moved by some inward emotion, throws her arms around Miss St.
Vincent's neck and kisses her. From a strange impulse the young girl
blushes deeply and turns her face away from Grandon.

He has asked after Mr. St. Vincent, who is now asleep. He is no worse.
Denise thinks him better. He has not fainted since morning.

"Cecil," her father says, "will you stay here and let me go home for
the carriage? I am afraid I cannot carry you quite so far, and I dare
say Jane is half crazy with alarm."

Cecil looks very much as if she could not consent to the brief
separation. The young girl glances from one face to the other.

"Yes, you will stay," she answers, with cheerful decision. "Papa will
soon return for you. Would you mind if I gave her some berries and
milk?" she asks, rather timidly, of Mr. Grandon.

"Oh, no! I will soon come back." He stoops and kisses Cecil, and makes
a slight signal to Denise, who follows him.

"She saved my darling from a great peril," he says, with deep emotion,
"perhaps her very life. What can I do for her?"

"Keep her from that terrible marriage," returns Denise. "She is too
sweet, too pretty for such an ogre."

"She shall not marry him, whatever comes," he says, decisively.

Walking rapidly homeward, he resolves to write again to Eugene. Miss
St. Vincent is pretty, winsome, refined, spirited, too; quite capable
of matching Eugene in dignity or pride, which would be so much the
better. She is no "meke mayd" to be ground into a spiritless slave.
They would have youth, beauty, wealth, be well dowered. He feels as
anxious now as he has been disinclined before. A strange interest
pervades him, and the rescue of the child brings her so near; it seems
as if he could clasp her to his heart