From that time Mr. Bernard was brought into new relations with Elsie.  He was grateful; she had led him out of danger, and perhaps saved him from death, but he shuddered at the recollection of the whole scene.  He made up his mind that, come what might, he would solve the mystery of Elsie Venner, sooner or later.

II.—­Cousin Richard Venner

Richard Venner had passed several of his early years with his uncle Dudley Venner at the Dudley mansion, the playmate of Elsie, being her cousin, two or three years older than herself.  His mother was a lady of Buenos Ayres, of Spanish descent, and had died while he was in his cradle.  A self-willed, capricious boy, he was a rough playmate for Elsie.

But Elsie was the wilder of these two motherless children.  Old Sophy—­ said to be the granddaughter of a cannibal chief—­who watched them in their play and their quarrels, always seemed to be more afraid for the boy than the girl.

“Massa Dick, don’ you be too rough wi’ dat girl!  She scratch you las’ week, ‘n’ some day she bite you; ‘n’ if she bite you, Massa Dick——­” Old Sophy nodded her head ominously, as if she could say a great deal more.

Elsie’s father, whose fault was to indulge her in everything, found that it would never do to let these children grow up together.  A sharper quarrel than usual decided this point.  Master Dick forgot old Sophy’s caution, and vexed the girl into a paroxysm of wrath, in which she sprang at him, and bit his arm.  Old Dr. Kettredge was sent for, and came at once when he heard what had happened.

He had a good deal to say about the danger there was from the teeth of animals or of human beings when enraged, and he emphasised his remarks by the application of a pencil of lunar caustic to each of the marks left by the sharp white teeth.

After this Master Dick went off on his travels, which led him into strange places and stranger company; and so the boy grew up to youth and early manhood.

There came a time when the young gentleman thought he would like to see his cousin again, and wrote inviting himself to the Dudley mansion.

Doctor Kettredge could see no harm in the visit when Dudley Venner consulted him.  Her father was never easy about Elsie.  He could not tell the old doctor all he knew.  In God’s good time he believed his only daughter would come to her true nature; her eyes would lose that frightful, cold glitter, and that faint birth-mark which encircled her neck—­her mother swooned when she first saw it—­would fade wholly out.

“Let her go to the girls’ school, by all means,” the doctor had said, when that was first talked about.  “Anything to interest her.  Friendship, love, religion—­whatever will set her nature to work.”

When Dudley Venner mentioned his nephew’s arrival, the doctor only said, “Let him stay a while; it gives her something to think about.”  He thought there was no danger of any sudden passion springing up between two such young persons.