CHAPTER III. THE CHILD-ANGEL AND HER WOES. "Of course that's what I mean.". "What puzzles me is, how he could have got the chance. It's more than a week since he saved you, and we all felt deeply grateful to him. But saving a girl's life doesn't give a man any claim over her; and we don't altogether like him; and so we all have tried, in a quiet way, without hurting his feelings, you know, to prevent him from having any ac MRS. WILLOUGHBY was in her room at the hotel in Milan, when the door opened, and Minnie came in. She looked around the room, drew a long breath, then locked the door, and flinging herself upon a sofa, she reclined there in silence for some time, looking hard at the ceiling. Mrs. Willoughby looked a little sur-quaintance with you." prised at first; but after waiting a few moments for Minnie to say something, resumed her reading, which had been interrupted. "Kitty," said Minnie at last. "What?" said her sister, looking up. "I think you're horrid." "Why, what's the matter?" 66 Why, because when you see and know that I'm dying to speak to you, you go on reading that wretched book." "Why, Minnie darling," said Mrs. Willoughby, "how in the world was I to know that you wanted to speak to me?" "You might have known," said Minnie, with a pout "you saw me look all round, and lock the door; and you saw how worried I looked, and I think it a shame, and I've a great mind not to tell you any thing about it." "About it-what it?" and Mrs. Willoughby put down her book, and regarded her sister with some curiosity. "I've a great mind not to tell you, but I can't help it. Besides, I'm dying to ask your advice. I don't know what to do; and I wish I was dead-there!" "My poor Minnie! what is the matter? You're so incoherent." "Well, Kitty, it's all my accident." "Your accident?" "Yes; on the Alps, you know." "What! You haven't received any serious injury, have you?" asked Mrs. Willoughby, with some alarm. "Oh, I know, I know," said Minnie, briskly. "He told me all that. He understands that; but he doesn't care, he says, if I only consent. He will forgive you, he says." Minnie's volubility was suddenly checked by catching her sister's eye fixed on her in new amazement. "Now you're beginning to be horrid,” she cried. "Don't, don't-" "Will you have the kindness to tell me," said Mrs. Willoughby, very quietly, "how in the world the Count contrived to tell you all this ?" "Why-why-several times." "Tell me where ?" Why, once at the amphitheatre. You were walking ahead, and I sat down to rest, and he came and joined me. He left before you came back." "He must have been following us, then." "Yes. And another time in the picturegallery; and yesterday in a shop; and this morning at the Cathedral." "The Cathedral!" "Yes, Kitty. You know we all went, and Lady Dalrymple would not go up. So Ethel and I went up. And when we got up to the top I walked about, and Ethel sat down to admire the view. And, you know, I found myself off at a little distance, when suddenly I saw Count Girasole. And then, you know, he-he Mrs. Willoughby sat silent for some time. "And what did you say to him?" she asked at length. "Oh! I don't mean that; but I'll tell you-proposed." what I mean;" and here Minnie got up from her reclining position, and allowed her little feet to touch the carpet, while she fastened her great, fond, pleading, piteous eyes upon her sister. "It's the Count, you know," said she. "The Count!" repeated Mrs. Willoughby, somewhat dryly. "Well?" "Why, what else could I say ?" "What else than what?" "I don't see why you should act so like a grand inquisitor, Kitty. You really make me "Well-don't you know what I mean? Oh, feel quite nervous," said Minnie, who put her how stupid you are!" little rosy-tipped fingers to one of her eyes, and attempted a sob, which turned out a failure. "Oh, I only asked you what you told him, you know." "Well," said Minnie, gravely, "I told him, you know, that I was awfully grateful to him, and that I'd give any thing if I could to express my gratitude. And then, you know—oh, he speaks such darling broken English-he called me his 'mees,' and tried to make a pretty speech, which was so mixed with Italian that I didn't understand one single word. By-theway, Kitty, isn't it odd how every body here speaks Italian, even the children?" "And then, you know, he saved my life-you're going to say, and I won't stand it;" and didn't he now? You must acknowledge that Minnie ran over to her sister and held her hand over her mouth. "I won't say a word," said Mrs. Willoughby, as soon as she had removed Minnie's hand; "so begin." Minnie resumed her place on the sofa, and gave a long sigh. "Well, you know, Kitty darling, it happened at Brighton last September. You were in Scotland, then. I was with old Lady Shrewsbury, who is as blind as a bat-and where's the use of having a person to look after you when they're "Minnie," said the other, in a serious voice, blind! You see, my horse ran away, and I think "do you really love this man?" "Love this man! why no, not particularly; but I like him; that is, I think I do, or rather I thought I did; but really I'm so worried about all my troubles that I wish he had never come down after me. I don't see why he did, either. I didn't ask him to. I remember, now, I really felt quite embarrassed when I saw him. I knew there would be trouble about it. And I wish you would take me back home. I hate Italy. Do, Kitty darling. But then-" Minnie paused again. he must have gone ever so many miles, over railroad bridges and hedges and stone walls. I'm certain he jumped over a small cottage. Well, you know, when all seemed lost, suddenly there was a strong hand laid on the reins, and my horse was stopped. I tumbled into some strange gentleman's arms, and was carried into a house, where I was resuscitated. I returned home in the gentleman's carriage. "Now the worst of it is," said Minnie, with a piteous look, "that the person who stopped the horse called to inquire after me the next day. "Well, Minnie dear, we certainly must con- Lady Shrewsbury, like an old goose, was awfultrive some plan to shake him off without hurt-ly civil to him; and so there I was! His name ing his feelings. It can't be thought of. There are a hundred objections. If the worst comes to the worst we can go back, as you say, to England." "I know; but then," said Minnie, "that's the very thing that I can't do-" "Can't do what?" "Go back to England." "Back to England! Why not? I don't know what you mean." "Well, you see, Kitty, that's the very thing I came to see you about. This dreadful manthe Count, you know—has some wonderful way of finding out where I go; and he keeps all the time appearing and disappearing in the very strangest manner; and when I saw him on the roof of the Cathedral it really made me feel quite giddy. He is so determined to win me that I'm afraid to look round. He takes the commonest civility as encouragement. And then, you know—there it is—I really can't go back to England." "What do you mean by that?" "Why there's—a—a dreadful person there," said Minnie, with an awful look in her eyes. is Captain Kirby, and I wish there were no captains in the world. The life he led me! He used to call, and I had to go out riding with him, and old Lady Shrewsbury utterly neglected me; and so, you know, Kitty darling, he at last, you know, of course, proposed. That's what they all do, you know, when they save your life. Always! It's awful!" Minnie heaved a sigh, and sat apparently meditating on the enormous baseness of the man who saved a lady's life and then proposed; and it was not until Mrs. Willoughby had spoken twice that she was recalled to herself. "What did you tell him?" was her sister's question. "Why, what could I tell him?" "What!" cried Mrs. Willoughby; "you don't-" "Now, Kitty, I think it's very unkind in you, when I want all your sympathy, to be so horrid.” "Well, tell it your own way, Minnie dearest.' Minnie sat for a time regarding vacancy with a soft, sad, and piteous expression in her large blue eyes; with her head also a little on one side, and her delicate hands gently clasped in front of her. "You see, Kitty darling, he took me out riding, and he took me to the place where I had met him, and then he proposed. Well, you know, I didn't know what to say. He was so earnest, and so despairing. And then, you know, Kitty dearest, he had saved my life, and so-" "And so ?" "Well, I told him I didn't know, and was shockingly confused, and then we got up quite a scene. He swore that he would go to Mexico, though why I can't imagine; and I really wish he had; but I was frightened at the time, and I cried; and then he got worse, and I told him not to; whereupon he went into raptures, and began to call me no end of names-spooney names, you know; and I-oh, I did so want him to stop!-I think I must have promised him all that he wanted; and when I got home I was frightened out of my poor little wits, and cried all night." "Poor dear child!" exclaimed Mrs. Willoughby, with tender sympathy. "What a wretch!" "No, he wasn't a wretch at all; he was awfully handsome, only, you know, he-was-so -awfully persevering, and kept so at my heels; but I hurried home from Brighton, and thought I had got rid of him." "And hadn't you?" "Oh dear, no," said Minnie, mournfully. "On the day after my arrival there came a letter; and, you know, I had to answer it and then another; and so it went on-" "Oh, Minnie! why didn't you tell me before?" "How could I when you were off in that horrid Scotland? I always hated Scotland." "You might have told papa.' "I couldn't. I think papa's cruel too. He doesn't care for me at all. Why didn't he find out our correspondence and intercept it, the way papas always do in novels? If I were his papa I'd not let him be so worried." "And did he never call on you?" "Yes; he got leave of absence once, and I had a dreadful time with him. He was in a desperate state of mind. He was ordered off to Gibraltar. But I managed to comfort him; and, oh dear, Kitty dear, did you ever try to comfort a man, and the man a total stranger?" At this innocent question Mrs. Willoughby's gravity gave way a little. Minnie frowned, and then sighed. "Well, you needn't be so unkind," said she; and then her little hand tried to wipe away a tear, but failed. "Did he go to Gibraltar ?" asked Mrs. Willoughby at length. "Yes, he did," said Minnie, with a little as Minnie threw a look of reproach at her sister, and her eyes fell. "You can't possibly mean that there are any more-" "There-is-one-more," said Minnie, in a low, faint voice, stealing a glance at her sister, and looking a little frightened. "One more!" repeated her sister, breathless. "Well, I didn't come here to be scolded," said Minnie, rising, "and I'll go. But I hoped that you'd help me; and I think you're very unkind; and I wouldn't treat you so." “No, no, Minnie,” said Mrs. Willoughby, rising, and putting her arm round her sister, and drawing her back. "I had no idea of scolding. I never scolded any one in my life, and wouldn't speak a cross word to you for the world. Sit down now, Minnie darling, and tell me all. What about the American? I won't express any more astonishment, no matter what I may feel." "But you mustn't feel any astonishment," insisted Minnie. "Well, darling, I won't," said her sister. Minnie gave a sigh. "It was last year, you know, in the spring. Papa and I were going out to Montreal, to bring you home. You remember?" dear, how I wish he'd been as considerate with me! But that's the way always; yes, always." "Well, who was he?" 66 He 'Why, he was an American gentleman, returning home from a tour in Europe. saved me, as you have heard. I really don't remember much about it, only there was a terrible rush of water, and a strong arm seized me, and I thought it was papa all the time. And I found myself carried, I don't know how, through the waves, and then I fainted; and I really don't know any thing about it except papa's story." Mrs. Willoughby looked at Minnie in silence, but said nothing. "And then, you know, he traveled with us, and papa thought he was one of the passengers, and was civil; and so he used to talk to me, and at last, at Montreal, he used to call on me.' "Where?" "And he proposed to me there." "Where? in my parlor ?" "Yes; in your parlor, dearest." "I suppose it's not necessary for me to ask what you said." "I suppose not," said Minnie, in a sweet voice. "He was so grand and so strong, and he never made any allusions to the wreck; and it was-the-the-very first time that any body ever-proposed; and so, you know, I didn't know how to take it, and I didn't want to hurt his feelings, and I couldn't deny that he had saved my life; and I don't know when I ever was so confused. It's awful, Kitty darling. "And then, you know, darling," continued Minnie, "he went away, and used to write regularly every month. He came to see me once, and I was frightened to death almost. He is going to marry me next year. He used an aw ful expression, dearest. He told me he was a struggling man. Isn't that horrid? What is it, Mrs. Willoughby nodded, while a sad ex- Kitty? Isn't it something very, very dreadful?" pression came over her face. "And, you remember, the steamer was wrecked." "Yes." 66 "But I never told you how my life was saved." Why, yes, you did. Didn't papa tell all about the heroic sailor who swam ashore with you? how he was frantic about you, having been swept away by a wave from you? and how he fainted away with joy when you were brought to him? How can you suppose I would forget that? And then how papa tried to find the noble sailor to reward him." "Oh yes," said Minnie, in a despondent tone. "That's all very true; but he wasn't a noble sailor at all." "What!" "You see, he wasn't going to have a scene with papa, and so he kept out of his way. Oh 66 He writes still, I suppose?" "Oh dear, yes." Mrs. Willoughby was silent for some time. "Oh, Minnie," said she at last, "what a trouble all this is! How I wish you had been with me all this time!" "Well, what made you go and get married ?" said Minnie. "Hush," said Mrs. Willoughby, sadly, "never mind. I've made up my mind to one thing, and that is, I will never leave you alone with a gentleman, unless-" "Well, I'm sure I don't want the horrid creatures," said Minnie. "And you needn't be so unkind. I'm sure I don't see why people will come always and save my life wherever I go. I don't want them to. I don't want to have my life saved any more. I think it's dreadful to have men chasing me all over the HE BENT HIS HEAD DOWN, AND RAN HIS HAND THROUGH HIS BUSHY HAIR." finally found himself in Naples. It was always a favorite place of his, and he had established himself in comfortable quarters on the Strada Nuova, from the windows of which there was a magnificent view of the whole bay, with Vesuvius, Capri, Baix, and all the regions round about. Here an old friend had unexpectedly turned up in the person of Scone Dacres. Their friendship had been formed some five or six years before in South America, where they had made a hazardous journey in company across the continent, and had thus acquired a familiarity with one another which years of ordinary association would have failed to give. Scone Dacres was several years older than Lord Hawbury. One evening Lord Hawbury had just finished his dinner, and was dawdling about in a listless Italy, and I'm way, when Dacres entered, quite unceremoniThen I'm al-ously, and flung himself into a chair by one of the windows. world. I'm afraid to stop in afraid to go back to England. ways afraid of that dreadful American. I suppose it's no use for me to go to the Holy Land, or Egypt, or Australia; for then my life would be saved by an Arab, or a New Zealander. And oh, Kitty, wouldn't it be dreadful to have some Arab proposing to me, or a Hindu! what am I to do ?" Oh, "Trust to me, darling. I'll get rid of Girasole. We will go to Naples. He has to stop at Rome; I know that. We will thus pass quietly away from him, without giving him any pain, and he'll soon forget all about it. As for the others, I'll stop this correspondence first, and then deal with them as they come." "You'll never do it, never," cried Minnie; "I know you won't. You don't know them." CHAPTER IV. IN THE CRATER OF VESUVIUS, LORD HARRY HAWBURY had been wandering for three months on the Continent, and had "Any Bass, Hawbury?" was his only greeting, as he bent his head down, and ran his hand through his bushy hair. "Lachryma Christi ?" asked Hawbury, in an interrogative tone. "No, thanks. That wine is a humbug. I'm beastly thirsty, and as dry as a cinder." Hawbury ordered the Bass, and Dacres soon was refreshing himself with copious draughts. The two friends presented a singular contrast. Lord Hawbury was tall and slim, with straight, flaxen hair and flaxen whiskers, whose long, pendent points hung down to his shoulders. His thin face, somewhat pale, had an air of high refinement; and an ineradicable habit of lounging, together with a drawling intonation, gave him the appearance of being the laziest mortal alive. Dacres, on the other hand, was the very opposite of all this. He was as tall as Lord Hawbury, but was broad-shouldered and massive. He had a big head, a big mustache, and a thick beard. His hair was dark, and |