“My dear, you had better allow Eleanor to provide you with dry clothing and remain with her to-night,” suggested Miss Nevin as they entered the hall.  Then ringing for the maid, she ordered hot chocolate.

“I wish you would stay with me, Grace,” said Eleanor rather shyly.  “I have a great deal to say to you.”

“And I to you, Eleanor,” Grace responded.

For a moment they stood facing one another.  What they saw seemed to satisfy them.  Their hands reached out simultaneously and met in a firm clasp.

“Will you kiss me, Grace?” was what Eleanor said.

“With all my heart,” was the answer.  And with that kiss all resentment and hard feeling died out forever.

“You are surely going to stay with me tonight,” coaxed Eleanor.  “We will send word to your mother.”

But with Eleanor’s remark the remembrance of her promise to her mother came back with a rush.

“Good gracious, Eleanor!  I promised mother that I’d be home at nine o’clock.  What time is it now?”

“It’s half past ten,” replied Eleanor, consulting her watch.

“Poor Bridget,” mourned Grace.  “She will be sure to think that the ghosts have spirited me away.  I must go this minute, before search parties are sent out for me.  But I’ll see you to-morrow Eleanor, for I need your help.”

Just then Miss Nevin, who had left the room, returned with a tray on which were tiny sandwiches and a pot of chocolate.

“You must have some refreshment, Grace,” she said.  “Eleanor, do the honors.”

Grace was made to eat and drink, then, placing herself under John’s protection, she returned to Oakdale in Eleanor’s runabout, stopping on her way home at the house of Bridget’s cousin, where she found the faithful though irate Bridget awaiting her in a state of anxiety bordering upon frenzy.

“Don’t fuss, Bridget,” consoled Grace.  “The banshees didn’t get me, and you’re going to ride home in an automobile.  That ought to make you feel better.”

The prospect of the ride completely mollified Bridget, and by the time they reached home she fairly radiated good nature.

“Your ideas of time are somewhat peculiar, Grace,” remarked her mother as Grace entered the living room, where her mother and father sat reading.  “If Bridget had not been with you I should have been most uneasy.”

But Grace was too full of her news to make other answer than cry out: 

“Oh, mother, we found it!  We did, truly!”

“What is the child talking about?” asked her father.  And then Grace launched forth with an account of her night’s doings.

“Well, I never!” was all Mr. Harlowe could find words for when his daughter had finished.

“What shall I do with you, Grace?” said her mother in despair.  “You will be injured or killed yet, in some of your mad excursions.”

“Trust to me to land right side up with care,” answered Grace cheerfully.