But she was non-committal, baffling, from first to last. She would admit nothing, explain nothing, confess nothing. She defied them all.

On the following morning, at the Warburton Mansion, a happy group a.s.sembled to hear, from Mr. Follingsbee, all that was not already known to them of Stanhope's story.

How it was told, let the reader, who knows all, and knows Mr.

Follingsbee, imagine.

Leslie was there, fair and pale, robed once more in the soft, rich garments that so well became her. Alan was there, handsome and humble.

He had made, so far as he could in words, manly amends to Leslie, and she had forgiven him freely at last. Winnie too, was there, obstinately avoiding Alan's glance, and keeping close to Leslie. Mrs. French was there, smiling and motherly. And little Daisy was there, the centre of their loving glances.

In her childish way, the little one had told all that she could of her captivity.

She had gone to sleep upon the balcony of her Papa's house and in the arms of "Mother Goose." She had awakened in a big, dark room, whose windows were tightly shuttered, and where she could see nothing but a tiny bit of sky. A negress, who frightened her very much, had brought her food, and sat in the room sometimes. She had been lonely, terrified, desolate.

The little that she could tell threw no light upon the mystery of her hiding-place, but it was all that they ever knew.

"I used to pray and pray," said Daisy, "but G.o.d didn't seem to hear me at all. And when I woke in that little room that smelled so bad--it was worse than the other--I just felt I must _make_ G.o.d hear, so I prayed, oh, so loud, and then the door broke in, and that nice, funny man picked me up, and there was Mamma; and only think! G.o.d might have let me out long before if I had only prayed loud enough."

When Leslie learned her own story, and was brought face to face with her father, her cup of joy was full indeed. She was at anchor at last, with some one to love her beyond all others; with some one to love and to render happy.

"Oh," she said, "to know that my dear adopted parents were after all my own kindred; my uncle and my aunt! What caprice of their evil natures prompted those wretches to do me this one kindness?"

"They knew where to find the Ulimans," said her father, "and knew that they were wealthy. It was the easiest way to dispose of you."

"I suppose so," she a.s.sented, sighing as she thought of those dear ones dead; smiling again as she looked in the face of her new-found father.

In the present confidence, the happiness and peace, that surrounded her, Winnie French could not continue her perverse _role_, nor, indeed, was Alan the man to permit it. She had let him see into her heart, in that moment when he had seemed in such deadly peril, and he smiled down her pretty after-defiance.

"You shall not recant," he said laughingly; "for your own sake, I dare not allow it. A young woman who so rashly espouses the cause of a swain, simply because he has the prospect of a pair of handcuffs staring him in the face, is unreliable, sadly out of balance. She needs a guardian and I--"

"Need an occupation," retorted Winnie, maliciously. "Don't doom yourself to gray hairs, sir; repent."

"It's too late," he declared; and they ceased to argue the question.

They would have _feted_ Stanhope and made much of him at Warburton Place, for Alan did not hesitate to p.r.o.nounce such a man the peer of any. But the young detective was perversely shy.

He came one day, and received Leslie's thanks and praises, blushing furiously the while, and conducting himself in anything but a courageous manner. Once he accepted Alan's invitation to a dinner, in which the Follingsbees, Mr. Parks and Mr. Ainsworth partic.i.p.ated. But he took no further advantages of their cordially-extended hospitality, and he went about his duties, not quite the same d.i.c.k Stanhope as of yore.

On her part, Leslie was very reticent when Stanhope and his exploits were the subject of discussion, although, when she spoke of him, it was always as the best and bravest of men.

"Parks talks of returning to England," said her father one day at luncheon, "and he wants Stanhope to go with him."

"Will he go?" asked Alan, in a tone of interest.

"I hope not; at least not until I have time to bring him to his senses."

"Why, Papa!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.es Leslie.

"Has our Mr. Stanhope lost his senses, uncle?" queries little Daisy anxiously.

"You shall judge, my dear. He has refused, with unyielding firmness, to accept from me anything in token of my grat.i.tude for the magnificent service he has rendered us."

"And," added Alan, "he has refused my overtures with equal stubbornness."

"But he has accepted the splendid reward promise by Mr. Parks, has he not?" queries Mrs. French.

"That, of course; he was bound to do that," said Mr. Ainsworth, discontentedly. "And in some way I must make him accept something from me. Leslie, my dear, can't you manage him?"

"I fear not, Papa." And Leslie blushed as she caught Winnie's laughing eye fixed upon her. "I don't think Mr. Stanhope is a man to be managed."

"Nonsense, Leslie," cries Winnie. "He's afraid of a woman; he blushes when you speak to him."

"Did he blush," queried Leslie maliciously, "when you embraced him that night of the masquerade?"

In the midst of their laughter, Winnie was mute.

One day, some weeks after the _denouement_, Stanhope, sauntering down a quiet street, met Van Vernet.

"Stop, Van," he said, as the other was about to pa.s.s; "don't go by me in this unfriendly fashion, if only for appearance's sake. How do you get on?"

"As usual," replied Vernet indifferently, and looking Stanhope steadily in the face. "And you? somehow you look too sober for a man who holds all the winning-cards."

"I don't hold all the winning-cards, Van. Indeed, I'm inclined to think that I've lost more than I've won."

Vernet continued to regard him steadily and after a moment of silence, he said quietly:

"Look here, d.i.c.k, I'm not prepared to say that I quite forgive you for outwitting me--I don't forgive myself for being beaten--but one good turn deserves another, and you did me a very good turn at the end.

You've won a great game, but I'm afraid you are going to close it with a blunder."

"A blunder, Van?"

"Yes, a blunder. You have devoted yourself, heart and soul, to a pretty woman, and you are just the man to fall in love with her."

"Take care, Van."

"Oh, I know what I am saying. On the day of our meeting at Warburton Place--the last meeting, I mean, when you figured as Franz Francoise--I saw what you missed. You may think that I was hardly in a state of mind for taking observations, but, in truth, my senses were never more intensely alert than while I stood there dumbly realizing the overthrow of all my plans. And I saw love, unmistakable love, shining upon you from a woman's eyes."

"Van, you are mad!"

"Not at all. It's a natural termination to such an affair. Why, man, you are deservedly a hero in her eyes. Don't be overmodest, d.i.c.k. If you care for this woman, you can win her."

He turned with these words, pa.s.sed his amazed listener, and walked on.

And Stanhope resumed his saunter, looking like a man in a dream.