"You served him right," said the Doctor. "If you will permit me, Miss Danton, I will escort you to the village."
"Come home with us," said Eeny, "we will just be in time for luncheon, and I know you want to see Grace."
"A thousand thanks, Mademoiselle—but no—not this morning."
Kate seconded the invitation; but Doctor Danton politely persisted in refusing. He walked with them as far as St. Croix, then raised his hat, said good-bye, whistled for Tiger, and was gone.
The young ladies reached the hall in safety, in time to brush their hair before luncheon, where, of course, nothing was talked of but their adventure and their champion.
"By George! if I catch these fellows, I'll break every bone in their drunken skins," cried the irate Captain. "A pretty fix you two would have been in, but for the Doctor. I'll ride down to the parsonage, or whatever you call it, immediately after luncheon, and bring him back to dinner, will he nill he—the Curé, too, if he'll come, for the Curé is a very old friend."
Captain Danton was as good as his word. As soon as luncheon was over, he mounted his horse and rode away, humming a tune. Kate stood on the steps, with the pale November sunlight gilding the delicate rose-bloom cheeks, and making an aureole round the tinsel hair watching him out of sight. Eeny was clinging round her as usual, and Grace stopped to speak to her on her way across the hall.
"You ought to go and practise, Eeny. You have not touched the piano to-day, and to-morrow your teacher comes."
"Yes, Eeny," said Kate, "go attend to your music. I am going upstairs, to my room."
She smiled, kissed her, opened the parlour door, pushed her in, and ran up the broad staircase. Not to her own room, though, but along the quiet corridor leading to the green baize door. The key of that door was in her pocket; she opened it, locked it behind her, and was shut up with the, as yet, invisible Mr. Richards.