"Norbert de Champdoce.

But forgive me, and tell me if you are in pain ?" Pity came over the wounded girl.

She gently drew herself away from the arm that encircled her, and said softly,-- "It is I who ought to apologize for my foolish weakness; for I am really more frightened than hurt." Norbert felt that heaven had opened before his very eyes.

"Let me go for help," exclaimed he.
"No, no; it was a mere scratch." And, raising her skirt, she displayed a foot that might have turned a steadier head than Norbert's.

"See," said she, "it is there that I am in pain." And she pointed to a spot of blood upon the delicate white stocking.