lation. Do you understand, Imp?"

"Not 'zackly--but it sounds fine! Auntie Lisbeth," he said suddenly,
as we paused at the Shrubbery gate, "don't you think my outlaw must be
very, very fond of Uncle Dick to kiss his hand?"

"Why, of course he must," nodded Lisbeth.

"If," he went on thoughtfully, "if you loved somebody--very much--would
you kiss their hand, Auntie Lisbeth?"

"I don't know--of course not!"

"But why not--s'posing their hand was nice an' clean?"

"Oh, well--really I don't know. Imp, run along to bed; do."

"You know now that I wasn't such a pig as to eat all that food, don't
you?" Lisbeth kissed him.

"Now be off to bed with you."

"You'll come an' tuck me up, an' kiss me good-night, won't you?"

"To be sure I will," nodded Lisbeth.

"Why, then, I'll go," said the Imp; and with a wave of the hand to me
he went.

"Dick," said Lisbeth, staring up at the moon, "it was very unwise of
you, to say the least of it, to set a desperate criminal at large."

"I'm afraid it was, Lisbeth; but then I saw there was good in the
fellow, you know, and--er--"

"Dick," she said again, and then laughed suddenly, with the dimple in
full evidence; "you foolish old Dick--you know you would have done it
anyway for the sake of that dying old soldier."

"Poor old Jasper!" I said; "I'm really afraid I should." Then a
wonderful thing happened; for as I reached out my hand to her, she
caught it suddenly in hers, and before I knew had pressed her lips upon
it--and so was gone.

VII

THE BLASTED OAK

I had quarrelled with Lisbeth; had quarrelled beyond all hope of
redemption and forgiveness, desperately, irrevocably, and it had all
come about through a handkerchief--Mr. Selwyn's handkerchief.

At a casual glance this may appear all very absurd, not to say petty;
but then I have frequently noticed that insignificant things very often
serve for the foundation of great; and incidentally quite a surprising
number of lives have been ruined by a handkerchief.

The circumstances were briefly these: In the first place, I had
received the following letter from the Duchess, which had perturbed me
not a little:

MY DEAR DICK: I hear that that Agatha Warburton creature has written
threatening to cut off our dear Lisbeth with the proverbial shilling
unless she complies with her wish and marries Mr. Selwyn within the
year. Did you ever know of anything so disgusting?

If I were Lisbeth, and possessed such a "cre