"What is that? This news is most alarming and disquieting. What is the other condition--the alternative?"

Fluff rose, yawned slightly, and half turned her back to the squire.

"It is scarcely worth naming," she said, in a light and indifferent voice; "for as Frances loves Philip, of course she would not think of marrying any one else. But it seems that this stranger, when he was poking about the place, had caught sight of Frances, and he thought her very beautiful and very charming. In short, he fell in love with her, and he says if you will let him marry her, that he and she can live here, and you need never stir from the Firs. I mention this," said Fluff; "but of course there's no use in thinking of it, as Frances loves Philip."

"But there is a great deal of use in thinking of it, my dear; I don't know what you mean by talking in that silly fashion. A rich man falls in love with my daughter. Really, Frances must be much better-looking than I gave her credit for. This man, who practically now owns the Firs, wishes to release me from all difficulties if I give him Frances. Of course I shall give him Frances. It is an admirable arrangement. Frances would be most handsomely provided for, and I shall no longer be lonely with my daughter and son-in-law residing at the Firs."

"But Frances loves Philip!"

"Pooh! a boy-and-girl affair. My dear, I never did, and never will, believe in anything between Frances and Arnold. I always said Arnold should be your husband."

"I don't want him, thank you."

"Frances was always a good girl," continued the squire; "an excellent, good, obedient girl. She refused Philip because I told her to, and now she'll marry this stranger because I wish her to. Really, my dear, on the whole, your news is pleasant; only, by the way, you have not told me the name of the man who now holds my mortgage."

"He particularly wishes his name to be kept a secret for the present, but he is a nice fellow; I have seen him. I think, if Frances could be got to consent to marry him, he would make her an excellent husband."

"My dear, she must consent. Leave my daughter to me; I'll manage her."

"Well, the stranger wants an answer to-day."

"How am I to manage that? I must write to Frances, or see her. Here she is at this moment, driving down the avenue with Mrs. Carnegie. Well, that is fortunate. Now, Fluff, you will take my part; but, of course, Frances will do what I wish."

"You can ask her, squire. I'm going to walk about outside with Mrs.

Carnegie."

"And you won't take my part?"

"I won't take anybody's part. I suppose Frances can make up her own mind."

When Miss Kane came into her father's presence her eyes were brighter, and her lips wore a happier expression than the squire had seen on them for many a long day. She stepped lightly, and looked young and fresh.

Fluff and Mrs. Carnegie paced up and down in the South Walk. Mrs.

Carnegie could walk now, and she was certainly wonderfully improved in appearance.

"Beloved little fairy," she whispered to her companion, "this excitement almost overpowers me. It was with the utmost difficulty I could control myself as we drove over. Our sweet Frances looks happy, but I do not think she suspects anything. Dear little one, are you certain, quite certain, that the hero of the hour has really arrived?"

"Philip? I have locked him up in the dining-room," said Fluff, "and he is pacing up and down there now like a caged lion. I do hope the squire will be quick, or he'll certainly burst the lock of the door."

The two ladies paced the South Walk side by side.

"We'll give them half an hour," said Fluff.

When this time had expired, she took Mrs. Carnegie's hand, and they both approached the open windows of the squire's parlor. When the squire saw them he rose and confronted them. Angry red spots were on his cheeks; his hands trembled. Frances was seated at the table; she looked very pale, and as the two ladies approached she was wiping some tears silently from her eyes.

"Yes, look at her," said the squire, who was almost choking with anger.

"She refuses him--she absolutely refuses him! She is satisfied that her poor old father shall end his days in the work-house, rather than unite herself to an amiable and worthy man, who can amply provide for her. Oh, it is preposterous! I have no patience with her; she won't even listen to me. Not a word I say has the smallest effect."

"Because, father--"

"No, Frances, I won't listen to any of your 'becauses.' But never, never again even profess to care for your father. Don't waste words, my child; for words are empty when they are not followed by deeds."

"I must take an answer to Mr. Spens to-day," said Fluff. "Perhaps, if Frances thought a little, she would change her mind."

These words seemed to sting Frances, who rose quickly to her feet.

"You know why I can not help my father in this particular," she said.

"Oh, I think, between you all, you will drive me mad."

"Perhaps," said Fluff, suddenly--"perhaps if you saw the gentleman, Frances, you might be able to give a different answer. He really is very nice, and--and--the fact is, he's very impatient. He has arrived--he is in the dining room."

"The gentleman who has purchased the mortgage is in the dining-room!"

said the squire.

He rubbed his hands gleefully.

"Excellent! Frances will never be so rude as to refuse a rich man to his face. I look upon him already as our deliverer. I, for my part, shall give him a hearty welcome, and will a.s.sure him, if he will only give me time, that I will not leave a stone unturned to overcome my daughter's absurd infatuation. Frances, do you hear me? I desire you to behave politely to the stranger when he comes."

"Perhaps I had better go away," said Frances.

"No, no, dear Frances; do stay," pleaded Fluff. "I'll go and fetch the gentleman; I know him; he is really very nice."

She darted away.

Frances turned her back to the window.

"You know, father, all I have done for you," she said, her beautiful eyes shining and her slim figure very erect. "I have loved Philip--oh, so deeply, so faithfully!--for ten years. For five of these years I thought he was in his grave; and my heart went there, too, with him.

Then he came back, and I was very happy; for I found that he had loved me, and thought of me alone, also, all that long, long time. I was happy then, beyond words, and no woman ever more fervently thanked G.o.d.

Then--then--you know what happened. I gave Philip up. I consented to let my light, my hope, and my joy die out. I did that for you; but I did not consent to let my love die; and I tell you now, once and for all, that my love will never die; and that, as I so love Philip, I can never, even for your sake, marry any one but Philip!"

"Oh, Francie! Francie!" suddenly exclaimed a joyful little voice. "No one in all the world wants you to marry any one else! The stranger isn't a stranger. Say 'Yes' to your father and to Philip at the same time."

Frances turned; Arnold stepped in through the open window and put his arm round her.

"Now, sir," he said, holding Frances's hand, and turning to the squire, "which am I to have--the Firs or Frances?"

Of course everybody present knew the answer, so there is no need to record it here.

THE END.

MONSIEUR THE VISCOUNT'S FRIEND.

A TALE IN THREE CHAPTERS