"I swear to you that she shall not marry Gillespie!"
"She would do it to annoy me if for nothing else."
I took both her hands—they were like rose-leaves, those dear slightly tremulous hands!
"Now, Miss Pat—I'm going to call you Miss Pat because we're such old friends, and we're just contemporaries, anyhow—now, Miss Pat, Helen is not half so wicked as she thinks she is. Gillespie and I are on the best of terms. He's a thoroughly good fellow and not half the fool he looks. And he will never marry Helen!"
"I should like to know what's going to prevent her from marrying him!" she demanded as I stepped back and turned to go.
"Oh, I am, if you must know! I have every intention of marrying her myself!"
I ran away from the protest that was faltering upon her lips, and strode through the garden. I had just reached Glenarm gate on my way back to the boat-house when a woman's voice called softly and Sister Margaret hurried round a turn of the garden path.
"Mr. Donovan!"
There was anxiety in the voice, and more anxious still was Sister Margaret's face as she came toward me in her brown habit, her hands clasped tensely before her. She had evidently been watching for me, and drew back from the gate into a quiet recess of the garden. Her usual repose was gone and her face, under its white coif, showed plainly her distress.
"I have bad news—Miss Helen has gone! I'm afraid something has happened to her."