the fruit-trees waved their spectral arms above him as he passed. There
was something indefinably unhomelike and weird in the aspect of the most
familiar places in the winter twilight. But Maurice Evandale, by an
effort of his strong will, banished the fancies that came into his mind,
and fixed his thoughts entirely upon the girl he was carrying. How best
to restore her, what to do for her comfort and her welfare when she
awoke--these were the thoughts that engrossed his attention now.

He did not go to the front-door. He went to a long window which opened
upon the garden, and walked straight into his own study. A bright fire
burned in the grate; a lamp was placed on the table, where books and
papers were heaped in true bachelor confusion. A low broad sofa occupied
one side of the room; the Rector deposited his burden upon it, and then
devoted himself seriously to the consideration of the case before him.

Enid lay white, motionless, rigid, where he had placed her; her eyelids
were not quite closed, and the eyes were visible between the lids; her
lips were open, but the teeth were tightly closed; a slight froth showed
itself about her mouth.

"It is no faint," the Rector said to himself. "It is a fit, a nervous
seizure of some sort. If she does not revive in a minute or two, I shall
send for Ingledew"--Ingledew was the village doctor--"and in the
meantime I'll act on my own responsibility."

Certain reviving measures were tried by him, and apparently with
success. The bluish whiteness of the girl's face changed to a more
natural color, her teeth relaxed, her eyelids drooped. Evandale drew a
quick breath of relief when he saw the change. He was able to pour a few
drops of brandy down her throat, to chafe the unresisting hands, to
bathe the cold forehead with some hope of affording relief. He did all
as carefully and tenderly as if he had been a woman, and he did not seem
to wish for any other aid. Indeed he had locked the door when he first
came in, as if to guard against the chance of interruption.

Presently he heard her sigh; then tears appeared on her lashes and stole
down her cheeks. Her limbs fell into their natural position, and she put
up her hand at last with a feeble, uncertain movement, as if to wipe
away her tears. Evandale drew back a little--almost out of her sight. He
did not want to startle her.

"Where am I?" she said, in a tremulous voice.

"You are at the Rectory, Miss Vane," said Maurice Evandal