"Oh, papa! papa!"—kissing the old man's haggard face. "Such a strange thing has happened! The river bridge broke just as a gentleman was crossing on horseback. He fell into the water, and I—I helped him all I could, and he got out. And oh, papa, just think! He was on his way to this house—to you. He is outside."
Even as she spoke, the two men made their appearance in the doorway, leading between them the faltering, swaying figure of the young man. Beatrix hastily wheeled forward the easy-chair which Serena had vacated, and the helpless man sank into its capacious depths. Then the men who had brought Beatrix and the stranger hither took their departure.
"Mrs. Lynne,"—Beatrix turned pleadingly to that lady—"will you not do something for this gentleman? He is suffering greatly. His name is Kenyon—Mr. Keith Kenyon."
"Keith Kenyon!" Mrs. Lynne started to her feet, pale with surprise. "Why, so it is!" she cried, stooping to peer into the face of the half-unconscious man. "Keith! Keith! look up. Thank Heaven you are safe with us! Serena, go and light a fire in the spare chamber for your cousin Keith."
Beatrix started in surprise. During all the years passed under that roof she had never before heard of the existence of such a person.
"Your cousin?" she repeated, in a bewildered way, as Serena left the room, in obedience to her mother's directions.
Mrs. Lynne's pale eyes flashed.
"To be sure. At least, he is not exactly a cousin, only by adoption; which is all the better for Serena, as I do not approve of the marriage of cousins."
A strange pang shot through Beatrix Dane's girlish heart—a pang which was to her quite unaccountable. Why should she care whom Keith Kenyon married? Surely, it was nothing to her. Poor little Beatrix! Although she did not dream the truth, the spell of love was being woven about her young heart.
"Out flew the web, and floated wide,
The mirror cracked from side to side;
'The curse is come upon me!' cried
The Lady of Shalott."
An hour later the young man was placed in bed in the warm "spare chamber." Doctor Lynne having examined his injuries, found them not as serious as had been feared; and once attended to, Keith slept the sleep of exhaustion.
Twelve o'clock had struck before Beatrix retired to her own bare little chamber, and seated herself before the fire which she had ventured to kindle. No one had thought of her, or given her the slightest attention; Doctor Lynne, because he had been absorbed in his patient to the exclusion of every other object; the two women—mother and daughter—simply because they did not care. Beatrix unfastened her beautiful hair, and seating herself before the fire, wrapped a worsted shawl about her shoulders. The door of her room was pushed slowly open, and Serena appeared.
"Up yet?" she queried in a shrill, sharp voice. "Well, I would like to ask you a few questions, Miss Beatrix Dane. By the way, I wonder if your name is—really Dane?"
A swift flush crimsoned the girl's pure cheek.
"We will not discuss that question tonight, Serena," she said, gently. "I am quite too tired and sleepy."
Serena came and stood before the fire, resting her sallow cheek against the ugly wooden mantel.
"Tell me all about this thrilling adventure of yours," she began, abruptly; "really, it is quite too romantic!"
In a few patient words Beatrix repeated all that had occurred.
"I did not dream that Mr. Kenyon was a friend of yours," she added, in conclusion.
Serena's pale eyes sparkled.
"Friend? He is more than a mere friend!" she said, eagerly; "he is my cousin by adoption, and—and, Beatrix, I have never told you before; but I expect to be his wife some day!"
"Impossible!"
The word fell from Beatrix Dane's lips unawares. In an instant she realized the mistake that she had made.
"I—I beg your pardon!" she faltered; "I did not mean to offend you, Serena!"
"Offend?" Serena's thin lips parted in a disagreeable smile. "You could not offend me if you tried; not you—a nameless nobody!" she sneered. "And whatever you may say or think in regard to the matter, the truth remains—I am engaged to marry Keith Kenyon. Are you satisfied? What else, do you imagine, has brought him to this out-of-the-way place? It seems that he telegraphed to papa that he was coming; but the stupid idiots at the station neglected to send the message out here. I shall be glad when I get away from this hateful, dead-and-alive hole, and live in a large city, in an elegant house, with everything that heart can wish. Keith's home is in New Orleans, and I have always felt a great desire to visit the South."
New Orleans! The name aroused Beatrix with a little start. For the first time since her arrival home she remembered the letter that had come from New Orleans for Doctor Lynne. She searched hastily in the pocket of her dress for the missive. Yes, it was there, all safe.
"I must see papa at once," she observed, rising to her feet.
"Papa, indeed!" mimicked Serena, contemptuously. "If I were you I would wait until I could prove my right to call any one by that name before I—"
"Hush! Not another word! I will hear no more of your insolence. Leave my room, Serena Lynne, and never enter it again until you can treat me with proper respect."
"Well, I declare! Good gracious! what next? How we do put on airs! For my part—I—"
"Very well. If you will not vacate, I shall leave the room myself," cried Beatrix, too indignant to endure any more. She was faint and exhausted from fatigue and the exposures of the night. No one had offered her even a cup of tea or the slightest refreshment after her adventure in the cold night air, chilled and half clothed as she had been; and she was not enough at home in the house, where she had lived for sixteen years, to venture to suggest her need of refreshment. She flashed swiftly past the discomfited Serena, and down the bare stairs to Doctor Lynne's large cheerful sleeping apartment. Mrs. Lynne was still with the patient, and peeping in at the open door of Doctor Lynne's room, Beatrix was so fortunate as to find him there alone.
"Papa!"—hesitatingly—"may I speak with you?"
Frederick Lynne glanced up, and a glad light flashed over his worn countenance.
"Certainly, my dear!" he returned. "Come in. Why, Beatrix, child!"—with a startled glance into her white face—"you are ill, exhausted. How thoughtless and selfish in me not to think of you before. Here, drink a glass of wine!"
He filled a glass from the decanter of home-made wine upon the table, and held it to her lips. Beatrix drained the contents of the glass; then she sank wearily into the empty chair at his side.
"Papa, do you know anything concerning my parents—my real parents?" she asked, abruptly.
His face grew pale.
"No, dear; you have heard all that I know in regard to your history. Do not trouble yourself, Beatrix; it will all come right some time, I am sure. Try to have faith that all is for the best."
"I wish I could. I am tired of this life—tired of living here with Mrs. Lynne and Serena. I shall be glad to go out into the world and earn my own living. Don't look so horrified, daddy, darling. And by the way, I nearly forgot my errand here to you. I have a letter for you."
She drew the letter from her pocket and laid it in his hand.
At sight of the superscription his face grew pale as death. Breaking the seal with a trembling hand, he drew forth two inclosures—two separate letters.
"Go, my dear," he said, gently; "it is late, and you must retire now. Besides, I would rather be