"I'll be back in ten minutes," exclaimed Rose, mounting Regina with wonderful celerity, and flying off.

Old Jacques--a wizen little habitant--was distressed at the news, and ran off instantly to harness up his old mare, and sled. Madame Jacques placed a mattress on the sled and the vehicle started.

"Who is the gentleman?" Rose asked carelessly, as they rode along.

Old Jacques didn't know. He had stopped there last night, and paid them, but hadn't told them his name or his business.

A few minutes brought them to the scene of the tragedy. The stranger lifted those dark eyes of his, and looked so unspeakably handsome, that Rose was melted to deeper compa.s.sion than ever.

"I am afraid you are nearly frozen to death," she said, springing lightly to the ground. "Let us try if we cannot help you on to the sled."

"You are very kind," replied the stranger, laughing and accepting. "It is worth while having a sprained ankle, after all."

Rose and old Jacques got him on the sled between them though his lips were white with suppressed pain in the effort.

"I sent Jean Baptiste for Dr. Pillule," said old Jacques as he started the mare. "Monsieur will be--what you call it--all right, when Dr.

Pillule comes."

"Might I ask--but, perhaps it would be asking too much?" the stranger said, looking at Rose.

"What is it?"

"Will you not return with us, and hear whether Dr. Pillule thinks my life in danger?"

Rose laughed.

"I never heard of any one dying from a sprained ankle. _Malgre cela_, I will return if you wish it, since you got it in my behalf."

Rose's steed trotted peaceably beside the sled to the farm-house door.

All the way, the wounded hero lay looking up at the graceful girl, with the rose-red cheeks and auburn curls, and thinking, perhaps, if he were any judge of pictures, what a pretty picture she made.

Rose a.s.sisted in helping him into the drawing room of the establishment--which was a very wretched drawing-room indeed. There was a leather lounge wheeled up before a large fire, and thereon the injured gentleman was laid.

Doctor Pillule had not yet arrived, and old Jacques stood waiting further orders.

"Jacques, fetch a chair. That is right; put it up here, near me. Now you can go. Mademoiselle, do me the favour to be seated."

Rose sat down, very near--dangerously near--the owner of the eyes.

"May I ask the name of the young lady whom I have been fortunate enough to a.s.sist."

"My name is Rosina--Rose Danton."

"Danton," repeated the young man slowly. "Danton; I know that name.

There is a place called Danton Hall over here--a fine old place, they tell me--owned by one Captain Danton."

"I am Captain Danton's second daughter."

"Then, Miss Danton, I am very happy to make your acquaintance."

He held out his hand, gravely. Rose shook hands, laughing and blushing.

"I am much pleased to make yours, Mr. ----" laughing still, and looking at him.

"Reinecourt," said the gentleman.

"Mr. Reinecourt; only I wish you had not sprained your ankle doing it."

"I don't regret it. But you are under an obligation to me, are you not?"

"Certainly."

"Then I mean to have a return for what you owe me. I want you to come and see me every day until I get well."

Rose blushed vividly.

"Oh, I don't know. You exact too much!"

"Not a whit. I'll never fly to the rescue of another damsel in distress as long as I live, if you don't."

"But every day! Once a week will be enough."

"If you insult me by coming once a week, I'll issue orders not to admit you. Promise, Miss Danton; here comes Doctor Pillule."

"I promise, then. There, I never gave you permission to kiss my hand."

She arose precipitately, and stood looking out of the window, while the Doctor attended to the sprain.

Nearly half an hour pa.s.sed. The ankle was duly bathed and bandaged, then old Jacques and the Doctor went away, and she came over and looked laughingly down at the invalid, a world of coquettish daring in her dancing eyes.

"Well, M. Reinecourt, when does M. le Medecin say you are going to die?"

"When you think of leaving me, Mademoiselle."

"Then summon your friends at once, for I not only think of it, but am about to do it."

"Oh, not so soon."

"It is half-past two, Monsieur," pulling out her watch; "they will think I am lost at home. I must go!"

"Well, shake hands before you go."

"It seems to me you are very fond of shaking hands, Mr. Reinecourt,"

said Rose, giving him hers willingly enough, though.

"And you really must leave me?"

"I really must."