gion," he once said, with a
shudder. Besides, he was a creature in the superabundance of all human
faculties to whom their exercise seemed for a time all-sufficient, and
the dark shade of horror and remorse in the depths of his heart made
him unwilling to look back or think. At any rate, he silenced me on
that head; but, thinking, perhaps, that he had been unkindly blunt, he
resumed, "There is no risk for Eustace in this acquaintance?"

In spite of the pang that smote me, I felt that this was the only time
I might have for that word of warning which seemed incumbent on me. "I
do not think there is danger in his going to-day, but it does seem
right to tell you that poor Dermot Tracy is said to be very
extravagant, and to lead a wild life. And Harold, though I have known
him all my life, I have been thinking that it will not do for me to be
here, if this should become a resort of the set of people he has made
friends of."

Harold answered in his steady, grave way, "I see. But, Lucy, I suppose
none of them have been so bad as I have been?"--rather as if he were
wondering over the matter.

"But you belong to me," I answered, and I saw a look of real pleasure
meet my smile.

"I wish I knew what was best for Eustace," he said, after a few more
moments' thought. "Is it doing him harm for me to be here? I could go
back to New South Wales at once, only in some ways I don't think the
old fellow could get on without me, till he is more used to it all, and
in safe hands."

I had no hesitation in answering that Eustace would be much worse off
without his cousin, and that the treatment we were receiving was
chiefly on account of the fathers of both, not personal to Harold.

"Then you think it would not help him for me to leave him?"

"I think he is far more likely to live it down with you to help him."

"But, Lucy, are you being given up by all your friends for our sakes?
We did not know it meant that when we asked you to stay with us!"

"No more did I. But don't be uneasy about that, Harold dear. Don't
you think one's own flesh and blood is more than all such friends?"

"I should not have thought two fellows like us could have been worth
much to you," said Harold, gravely pondering. "That pretty little
thing who was with you the night we came; she has never been here
again. Don't you miss her?"

"It is not her fault," I said. "Besides, nothing is like the tie of
blood."

I shall never forget the look that