"You will not blame me, if I lead you into difficulty?"

"Certainly not. I give myself into your keeping."

She put her hand within his arm, and led him up the stairs, to a private
parlor on the second floor. Under the jet of light sat old Mr. Trevlyn.
Archer's heart throbbed fiercely, and his lips grew set and motionless,
as he stood there before the man he hated--the man against whom he had
made a vow of undying vengeance. Margie was looking at her guardian, and
did not observe the startling change which had come over Arch. She spoke
softly, addressing the old man.

"Dear guardian, this is the man who this morning so gallantly rescued me
from a watery grave. I want you to help me thank him."

Mr. Trevlyn arose, came forward, and extended his hand. Arch stood erect,
his arms folded on his breast. He did not move, nor offer to take the
proffered hand. Mr. Trevlyn gave a start of surprise, and seizing a lamp
from the table, held it up to the face of the young man. Arch did not
flinch; he bore the insulting scrutiny with stony calmness.

The old man dashed down the lamp, and put his hand to his forehead. His
face was livid with passion, his voice choked so as to be scarcely
audible.

"Margie, Margie Harrison!" he exclaimed, "what is this person's name?"

"Archer Trevlyn, sir," answered the girl, amazed at the strange behavior
of the two men.