"IT IS LOVELY TO LOVE AND BE LOVED."

In due time Ethel received a letter from Lord Chester, announcing his safe arrival in England.

But to her surprise and chagrin the young man made no mention of the mysterious matter that had called him away.

"Can it be that Arthur deceived me? That he invented an excuse to get away from me? What if he means to break his troth?" she thought, with instant, angry suspicion.

But when she noticed how pale her sister's young cheek had grown while she read her letter, she smoothed the frown from her brow and cried out gayly:

"Ah, Precious, I wish you had an adoring lover like mine! It would thrill your heart to read some of the tender passages in dear Arthur's letter."

She read aloud, blushingly, some tender words and phrases, but the blush was for her own falsehood, for Arthur's letter held nothing like what she read. It was brief and almost indifferent, and the poor fellow had tried to excuse its coldness by pleading haste.

If Precious was surprised at those ardent words of love to her sister, she was also glad in her tender, unselfish heart that Arthur had returned to his first love. She crushed down her own bitter pangs and answered sweetly:

"I am glad that he loves you so dearly, Ethel!"

In the quiet months at Rosemont, Precious had recovered from the nervous prostration that had followed upon the horror of her kidnaping by Lindsey Warwick, and the subsequent escape from the haunted house. The failure to apprehend the villain had made every one believe he was a fugitive far away. So the careful guard over the young girl had relaxed its vigilance, and she wandered at her own sweet will about the pretty ornamental grounds surrounding the house.

One evening she wandered at twilight down to the river bank toward the spot where she had parted with Lord Chester that fateful night. She stood beneath the wide-spreading oak with the first faint rays of the moon on her face, and the river murmuring at her feet.

The true and tender little heart was very heavy, despite all her efforts to be brave and strong; and although she had sent Arthur back to Ethel so nobly she could not banish him yet from her sorrowful thoughts.

With half-shut eyes and two burning tears on her pale cheeks, Precious stood still, living over in fancy the thrilling moment when Arthur had clasped and kissed her, and claimed her for his own.

Precious loved the young hero who had saved her life with all the passion of her soul, and her fond heart was breaking for his loss.

"But he can never be mine—never!" she sobbed faintly, and the river's voice echoed the plaintive words:

"Never! Never!"

Absorbed in her own sad thoughts, Precious did not catch the faint sound of footsteps creeping nearer and nearer, did not dream that this was the opportunity long waited and desired by a sinister intruder. Her downcast gaze did not see the tall form gliding round the tree, nor the burning eyes whose gaze seemed to scorch her face!

But suddenly a shawl was thrown over her head, stifling her shriek of surprise and horror, two strong arms closed around her form, and in another moment Precious would have been borne away a helpless captive to a dreadful fate; but at that moment Earle Winans, who had followed Precious, came opportunely upon the scene.

He beheld with horror the attempted outrage, and lifting a cane he carried struck the wretch a blow that made him reel and drop the girl's inanimate form on the ground.

There was an oath from the foiled villain, but Earle's hands were about his throat, forcing him to his knees.

"You hound! How dare you touch my sister?" thundered Earle, and the wretch whined as well as he could for the clutch on his throat:

"Your sister, sir? Oh, a thousand pardons! I thought it was my sweetheart, Hetty Wilkins, the maid of Miss Winans. We were courting here under the tree, and she sent me up to the servants' entrance to bring her shawl. In play only I threw it over her head, to give her a fright! It was a mistake. I beg your and the lady's pardon, and if you will let me go I'll never intrude on the grounds again!"

The story was so plausible, the wretch's abject terror so pitiable, that Earle permitted him to sneak away, little dreaming that it was the veritable Lindsey Warwick he had held in his grasp—the detestable villain who, under the guise of Hetty's lover, was still pursuing the mad purpose of winning the senator's beautiful daughter, who was as far above him as the stars from the earth.

He slunk away, and Earle knelt down by Precious, drawing the shawl from her white, unconscious face.

"Darling, speak to me!" he cried anxiously.

She shuddered, and opened her eyes.

"Oh, brother, is it you?" clinging to him distractedly. One fearful glance around her, and she moaned:

"Where is Lindsey Warwick? He came upon me suddenly and as I shrieked and turned to fly he threw a shawl over my head and——"

"Lindsey Warwick! Is it possible? and I have let the wretch escape! Come, darling, to the house, that I may pursue the villain!" Earle cried in bitter anger and chagrin that he had been so easily duped.

But though Senator Winans, with his son and a dozen other men, followed the trail all night, the search was hopeless, for Lindsey Warwick cleverly eluded capture.

And through the long night hours the mother watched by the bedside of the nervous girl, who tossed restlessly upon her pillow, starting in alarm at every sound, and begging piteously to be taken away from Rosemont.

"We will go to-morrow, dear," Mrs. Winans promised tenderly.

Hetty Wilkins wept and protested when she was told the story of the man who claimed to be her lover.

"There is some mistake," she cried. "My young man's name is Watson Hunter. And he wasn't here to-night at all."

But Mrs. Winans insisted on dismissing Hetty next day, with a month's wages in lieu of a warning. This plan seemed best to them all.