kings that they
throw at one another across the dormitory. Each one denies the throwing,
and I slap every one of them right and left, to be sure to get the right
one. I'm sick and tired of books. I wish I could come to you."

Suddenly the letters ceased, and, to Varrick's consternation, a week
passed without his hearing one word from little Jessie Bain, and he
never knew until then, how deep a hold the girl had on the threads that
were woven into his daily life.

In his loneliness he turned to the letters, and read and reread them. It
was like balm to his sore heart to find in them such outpourings of love
and devotion.

Was she ill? Perhaps some lover had crossed her path.

The thought worried him. He was just on the point of telegraphing, when
suddenly there was a rustling sound at the open French window, a swish
of skirts behind him, and the next instant a pair of arms were thrown
about his neck.

"Now don't scold me, guardy--please don't! I am going to own up to the
truth right here and now. I ran away. I couldn't help it, I got so tired
of hooking young ones' dresses and hearing their prayers."

With an assumption of dignity, Hubert Varrick unwound the girl's arms
from about his neck. But somehow they had sent a strange thrill through
his whole being, just such a thrill as he had experienced during the
hour in which he had asked Gerelda to be his wife, and she had answered
in the affirmative.

He tried to hold her off at arm's-length, but she only clung to him the
more, giving him a rapturous kiss of greeting.

The story of little Jessie Bain had been the only one which Hubert
Varrick had kept from his mother.

It seemed amusing, he had told himself repeatedly, for a young man of
five-and-twenty to be guardian, as it were, to a young girl of
sixteen--that sweet, subtle, dangerous age "where childhood and
womanhood meet."

"Aren't you glad to see me, Mr. Varrick?" cried Jessie.

"Glad?" Hubert Varrick's face lighted up, and before he was aware of the
action, he had drawn her into his encircling arms, bent his dark,
handsome head, and kissed the rosy mouth so dangerously near his own.
There was a sound as of a groan, from the door-way, followed by a
muffled shriek, and raising his eyes in startled horror, Hubert Varrick
saw his lady-mother standing on the threshold, her jeweled hands parting
the satin _portieres_.

"Who is this girl, and what does this amazing scene mean, Hubert?" cried
Mrs. Varrick.