CHAPTER I.

"COUSIN WHART, wait a moment, please. I have just a word to say to you," said Mrs. Dalrymple, lifting the teaspoon from her china cup, and playing with it abstractedly. The gentleman who was just unfolding his darling newspaper, still damp from the carrier, paused in the act, and looking across the table said mildly:

"Well, Hortense, I am listening."

"Would it be so much of an intrusion if I ventured to ask a lady friend of mine out here ?"

The tone was doubtful and hesitating, but there was a little spark of triumphant confidence in the eye, veiled from his view by drooping lashes of pale brown; and the thin, mobile lips were just ready to dimple into a mischievous smile.

“A lady!” echoed the gentleman, in a tone of consternation. But in a moment he added, conscious of the ungallant inhospitality of his manner, "Of course I don't want to object to any guest of yours. If she is only a quiet, sensible woman, like yourself, and wont be setting the whole house in an uproar, and especially wont be expecting me to dance attendance upon her whims, why, I have nothing more to say. Only I think we have been exceedingly cosy and comfortable, so far, and I hope we shan't have any disturbing element."

"Certainly not, certainly not, Cousin Whart, I hope I know well enough what is due to you, not to introduce any one to trouble you. I'll promise you shall not be annoyed at all. I'll manage it so you shall scarcely be aware there is any one visiting here. The library shall be sacred from intrusion, and the rear garden, and your favorite arbor. You see, somehow, I seem to feel that I ought to see something of my friend this summer; and to tell the truth, I am a little dull, while you are shut up with your books, and fussing over your experiments, and off on your wild gallops. And with her here I could enjoy everything, and besides, when Frank comes, she'll help entertain him, and keep him quiet. I am certain it will make your seclusion more secure, or I wouldn't propose the thing," replied Mrs. Dalrymple, returning

the spoon to the cup, and looking vastly relieved at the result of her experiment.

The gentleman had returned to his paper, and was already some ways into the editorial before the conclusion of her speech. She glanced at his pre-occupied face, and smiled again, with a look of a general whose victory is just secured; and leaving the breakfasttable at which she had presided, she skimmed away up stairs into her chamber, and hunted up her daintiest note-paper, and forthwith sat down to a pleasant pen-and-ink chat, as was evident by the vivacious expression of her face, while her white hand, with the ebony and gold trifle clasped lightly in the fingers, flew over the satiny paper, leaving its delicate lines of tracery, stamped emphatic every short distance by a dash, or an exclamation point. It was finished at last, lovingly folded, and inscribed, “Miss Sibyl Aubrey, W— street, Philadelphia.”

And when it was fairly deposited in the little mail-box in the hall, ready for the carrier, Mrs. Hortense Dalrymple gave a little sigh of relief and murmured:

"Now I hope it will come out just as I wish, and I shall congratulate myself upon originating such a charming little plot. It will be such a chance for Frank to have her all to himself in this romantic neighborhood! If he doesn't win her, he don't deserve to be my son. Of course he will! He is young, and by no means dull of wit, and as finelooking a young fellow as the country can show; and with that magnificent fortune of hers, how comfortable everything may be! I shall no longer be obliged to spend my summers with Cousin Whart, in such a stupid fashion. But Sibyl Aubrey is just the girl to enjoy this country place, and I think I shall know just how to please and fascinate her. Frank's coming shall all seem an accident, and I shall know how to help him along, and there's nobody to interfere. Thank Heaven, Cousin Whart is such an odd creature, and such a recluse, there's no fear of his bringing any other gentleman to distract her attention. Yes, I am sure I may count everything safe."

And Mrs. Hortense smiled, and nodded archly to some invisible personage, and re

turned to her ordinary duties, which, to be sure, were not remarkably irksome. The adroit widow always talked as if she were bestowing some great favor upon her cousin, Wharton Berne, in flitting down to his handsome country estate every summer, and looking after the servants and household affairs.

"Dear, careless soul!" she would say; "whatever would become of your domestic affairs, Cousin Whart, if I didn't take pity on you, and come every summer to set things to rights? You'd be ruined in a few years!”

And Cousin Whart would open those dreamy gray eyes of his, and give her a grateful smile, and answer:

"Well, indeed, Hortense, I don't know, indeed; but I'm sure it's very kind of you. You are the most comfortable woman to get along with that I know of;" and fall back again to his reading.

derway, and stalked off to the woods to hunt up the flower.

The house, meantime, was left to Mrs. Dalrymple's control, for all poor Mrs. Green's stifled indignation. And when the carriage drew up before the pretty vine-wreathed portico, Mrs. Dalrymple, all smiles and delights, in a cool, lilac muslin, ran down to meet her guest.

A fair, classical face, with soft, dark eyes, and scarlet lips curved into slight haughtiness, was bent out eagerly, in answer to the lady's salutation.

"You dear girl! O Sibyl Aubrey! I was so afraid you wouldn't come."

"Not come, Mrs. Dalrymple? Why, the temptation you held out was perfectly irresistible! I should have come, though fire and water had conspired to prevent. Do you think I could turn away from such a refreshing prospect? A month-a whole month to

Humph! I should think she'd be ashamed of herself, playing the fine lady, and ordering me around so insolently, and she a getting her living every summer out of the master. I wonder he don't see how she sponges out of us everything she can. She carries away jelly and fruit enough to last her the winter, I'll be bound. Lawful heart! I wish she'd skip one summer, and let us have a little peace!" said that worthy, a dozen times in the week. And when she was made aware of the new arrangements, Mrs. Green held up her hand in holy horror.

"Goodness sakes! the assurance of some folks! To think it aint enough for her, and that lazy son of hers, to get their board here for nothing, but she must invite her company here, as if the house and all in it belonged to her. O, if the master would only have a little spirit and look into things!"

Nevertheless, one charming June afternoon the carriage was sent to the railroad station, while the master of the place was away in the woods on a botanical tramp, his specimenbox under his arm. Mrs. Dalrymple was a thorough diplomat. She had discoursed eloquently that morning on a charming unknown wild-flower she had seen on a long walk the previous day, more than a mile away, and she inquired, with such a charming, flattering deference for his opinion, if Cousin Whart would tell her all about the darling stranger. The result was eminently satisfactory. Wharton Berne put by the project immediately un

perfect freedom. No tiresome beaux, no troublesome gallants! O, I come to you with thorough heartiness. And this is my friend, Miss Gramont. You wrote me to bring my maid; but I thought Cecille would be a reminder of the old ways. So I left her with all my party dresses, and coaxed Lucia to come instead. We mean to be genuine country girls, happy and jolly, and free from all the troublesome bonds of etiquette. Dear Mrs. Dalrymple, it was so good in you to think to give us this treat."

And while the graceful figure sprang lightly to the ground, Miss Sibyl Aubrey motioned toward the fairy-like companion with great violet eyes, and hair one golden flutter of soft, kinky curls.

"I am delighted to see you, I am sure, Miss Gramont," said Mrs. Hortense, her face one genial smile as she extended her head toward the stranger.

This was not quite honest in the lady, for in her heart she was impatiently soliloquizing: "Whatever could have put it into Sibyl's head to do such a stupid thing as to invite this girl here. She'll be dreadfully in Frank's .way."

And, still gracious smiles, she led the way into the house, and ushered them into the cool, inviting chamber.

"O how lovely! how sweet and innocent!" exclaimed Miss Aubrey, rushing to the open window which looked out into a woodland view, with a sweep of pasture-land varied into hill and dale, and a ribbon of gleaming blue,

"It is so peaceful-so deliciously natural!" she added, leaning out, and quite forgetting the demands of toilet; "O Mrs. Dalrymple, I foresee that I am going to enjoy the most delightful visit of my life."

"I hope so, dear child." answered Mrs. Hortense, well pleased at the girl's enthusiasm; "though I wont answer for the disappointment and chagrin of the gay friends and sighing lovers left behind. Are you quite sure you can do without them, Queen Sibyl?"

"Quite sure, indeed! I have been in a perfect fever of delighted anticipation ever since I received your letter. Such a letter as that was! Why, it almost took away my breath to read. You could not have guessed out, had you been with me all the time, half so well just what was the longing of my whole heart. Yes indeed, it will be refreshing to slip away for a little while out of our bustling, frivolous, deceitful world of fashion, to be romping children again, free from formality, laughing at etiquette. We haven't a silk dress with us, nor any of the fancy fixings. Only think how delicious, Lucia, to spring up tomorrow morning, knot up your hair carelessly. slip into a common morning dress without any fussings, and run down stairs secure from any impertinent masculine observation. Dear Mrs. Dalrymple! I've been puzzling whatever it was that made you offer me the kindness; that you should have selected me from all your acquaintances."

"Because I like you, first, and then, because I know you are just the girl to help me enjoy it. Come now, just brush off the dust, and come down to luncheon. There are strawberries, with the dew still on them, waiting."

A few hasty touches and the girls, arm in arm, tripped down the stairs following Mrs. Dalrymple's gliding step. The three ladies gathered around the oval table, spread out with such d-licacies as can only come from a farm close at hand, and a merry, sparkling conversation ensued. Then they all went out to the grassy bank under the great locust trees, and spent the rest of the day in careless, indolent ease.

Mrs. Hortense caught sight of a figure stalking across the distant valley, and discreetly proposed an adjournment to the parlor.

"That's my Cousin Wharton coming. I wrote you how he wasn't in the least in anybody's way, and is always content, if only ladies are kept away from him. He'll have

see him to-night."

The young ladies made no comment, but went off to the parlor to try a duet on the piano. And all through the pleasant twilight hour they sent their bird-like voices trilling forth in song after song, at first in madcap glee; but, as the shadows deepened, the strains of harmony grew slow and rich with tender melancholy.

They won Wharton Berne away from his solitary arbor, out to the rustic seat in front of the parlor window, and even compelled him to throw away his half-smoked cigar.

What would Mrs. Hortense have said, had she seen? But all was dark in the parlor, the instrument, it was evident, touched by fingers familiar enough to find their way without the. help of sight. Presently the last strain died out, and some one came to the window and sat down.

"Now, Sibyl, play us a farewell, and let us hie away to slumber at this immaculate hour," said the voice of the lady at the window.

And willing fingers again touched the keys, and after the low, dreamy prelude, a clear, full, wondrously sweet voice sang the ballad: "O, I have had sweet dreams! I have had sweet dreams!"

It was an old song now, but Wharton Berne remembered when it was new; when some one had sung it over and over again, at his fond request. That voice was silenced forever for earth, years gone! Those lips he knew had returned to dust, and yet, as he sat there, it seemed to him as if it must be she who was singing to him. He sat in a sort of trance, the tears slipping slowly down his cheeks.

A gathering glow from the window behind him showed that lights had been introduced. He heard a sudden bustle, loud voices, and a shriek in a woman's voice. These roused him effectually. He sprang to the window, seeing at once in the brilliant illumination what had happened. One of the fluid lamps, brought for the chambers, had been upset and broken. The flames had spread, and in endeavoring to extinguish them, one of the ladies had caught her white cambric dress in the flames. She rushed across the room, and as Mr. Berne's swift hand flung open the French window, she sprang out. He caught her in his arms, wrapped her quickly in the broadcloth coat he flung off from his own form, and crushed out the blaze.

Sibyl Aubrey caught the low, passionate words, "O my darling, O my saint!" as with one strong shudder he put her down, and she ran hastily back, frightened at the white anguish on his face.

A few moments of agitation and confusion, and all the danger was over. No one was injured, and only the burnt carpet and Sibyl's light drapery gave token of the catastrophe.

"What a fortunate escape!" repeated Mrs. Dalrymple, again and again. "O Sibyl, what should we have done, if you had been injured ?"

The young lady shuddered, and scarcely glanced at the fair arm disfigured by a cruel blister.

"As I might have been, but for the gentleman. And I never thanked him. But it was your cousin, I suppose, and he did not wish it. How strangely he looked, and how deadly pale he was!"

"Poor Whart! suppose it brought everything back to him. No wonder he was so overcome."

"Brought. what back?" demanded Miss Aubrey.

"Poor Marcia's death. He was engaged to a very sweet girl. One can scarcely believe it now, but when he was a young gentleman he was very gay. He was to take her to a party one night. She was all dressed, the wraps lying on the chair beside her, when his carriage was announced. I don't know exactly how it happened, but she approached the mantel for her bouquet or something, and her lace skirt fluttered into the open grate. Of course she was instantly in one light blaze. She ran shrieking past the servants, down the steps, and Whart caught her, but only to see her head fall back, and her limbs drop helplessly. She died in terrible agony that night, and Wharton Berne left all the old scenes, and came here, and became what he is."

"Poor man! hapless creature!" ejaculated Lucia Gramont, pityingly.

But Sibyl Aubrey, with grave eye fixed on her burnt arm, said never a word.

That night, just before midnight, as Wharton Berne unclosed the library door to leave the scientific book with which he had tried to quiet his unusual agitation, and seek slumber, he met a graceful figure on the stairs, carelessly wrapped in dressing gown and shawl. The fair, young face was pale, the lips feverishly bright, and the large, dark eyes had a strange glitter in them.

"I beg your pardon," said she, stepping

back to give him passage. "I hope you wont take me for a house-breaker, but I have become possessed to obtain a piece of ice from that great pitcher on the sideboard. It seems as if that would cure the pain in my arm; and as I didn't wish to disturb anybody, I came on an exploring expedition myself."

He turned back promptly, just glancing toward the arm whose sleeve, turned back, showed the cruel blister.

"Come with me, and I will get you a dish of ice. All the rest are asleep. They are used to me, and don't mind my prowling around at uncanny hours."

He led her into the dining-room and put her into an arm-chair, while he went further, after discovering that the pitcher was empty. She sat quietly, hearing him rattling around the refrigerator in the adjoining room, until he came back in triumph, a huge square of ice on the tray in his hand.

"O, that is refreshing!" cried Sibyl Aubrey. Give me a piece, I pray you, to ease this torture."

He saw the swollen veins beneath the slender wrist, and bent carefully to examine the burn.

"Dear child!" exclaimed he, in a voice full of tenderest compassion, "you must not have ice there, or you will have a worse inflammation to-morrow. I will wet a cool bandage, and relieve the torment a little, while I am preparing something to remove the fire. Why didn't you rouse up the whole house, rather than suffer so?"

"O, I hoped it would soon stop, but it grew worse, and then I thought of the ice," she answered, trustfully submitting her arm to his careful fingers.

In a little while he had made some sort of poultice and bound it around her arm.

"Now come into the library and sit awhile. You wont sleep, I am sure, for an hour or two yet, but in half an hour you will find ease, I promise you. Till that time let me help you fight the pain."

And he gave her the easiest chair in the library, brought cushions for her feet, and hunted up an old book of engravings, and showing them to her, one by one, told stories concerning each. And presently the little lines in the forehead smoothed away, and the scarlet lips relinquished their stern compressure, and the soft splendor in the dark eye was that of pleased content, instead of feverish excitement; and looking up suddenly she exclaimed:

"You are so kind to me, sir, sitting up at this late hour to beguile the pain away from me. It is really better now. I don't think I need stay up any longer."

Well, you need the rest, to be sure. But I'll bind on a fresh poultice. Be careful not to take cold 'to-morrow, and you are all right."

Then, as she stood at the door, with the taper in her hand, he said with a hungry wistfulness in his tone:

"It was you who sang 'I have had dreams,' was it not?"

"Yes sir, and it was you who saved me from a dreadful death. I did not dare to thank you then, you looked so deathly pale. I wish there was something I might do to prove my gratitude for all your kindness."

He smiled slowly and dreamily.

"Sometime you shall sing the song for me. A dear one, snatched away by the fiery torture which spared you, used to sing it once, and her voice and her eyes were like yours. It brings her back, to look at you."

Sibyl Aubrey's eyes were overflowing.

"I am so sorry for your great grief. I wish I might comfort you, but I cannot think of anything to say which is not feeble and weak in view of so sharp an affliction," she faltered.

You have a tender heart; don't vex it with compassion for my trials. They are far into the past, and time heals over the wounds of the keenest suffering. Good-night!"

CHAPTER II.

MRS. HORTENSE DALRYMPLE congratulated herself again and again upon the promising results of her diplomacy. The ensuing week was one of keen enjoyment, which did not seem to lose its zest as the days went on. Her cousin came to dinner twice with the guests, and was duly introduced, and made himself just entertaining enough to remove any suspicion of inhospitality, while he showed no symptoms of particular interest. He procured another saddle-horse, and in various unostentatious ways promoted their entertainment, but still remained in his seclusion. If there was one who came to heed that, in all their movements, he was sure to be lingering near their vicinity, that one was not Mrs. Hortense. But she came to the young ladies, as they were luxuriating in a fragrant couch in the middle of a great hay-mound in the meadow,

with a face of mingled consternation and amusement, during the second week.

"Girls, girls! whatever will you say to me? Here's a pretty dilemma! If I hadn't promised you should be free from all masculine intrusion, it would be different."

"Horrible!" ejaculated Miss Aubrey. “You don't mean we are threatened with an invasion from those disagreeable lords of creation! Just when we are enjoying ourselves so rationally, too. Now, Mrs. Dalrymple, don't tell us that."

"Whatever can I do, if there was only time to write," said Mrs. Dalrymple, in a tone of perplexity. "What could possess him to change his mind? And to think it should be Frank Dalrymple."

"Frank Dalrymple!" repeated Lucia Gra mont, while a wave of soft pink swept across her delicate cheek.

"Frank Dalrymple!" echoed Miss Aubrey; who is he? I am sure I don't know such a person."

"No indeed, of course you don't. But he is my son. And to think he should come intruding upon us now."

"Why, Mrs. Dalrymple, have you a son? I never knew it; you never told me."

"Well, he was only a boy, you know, and away at college. I do believe he is grown into a man by this time. He is all of twentythree, I declare. O Time, remorseless Time! how you fly! And I haven't seen the dear fellow for eighteen months. He will think it hard if I turn him back. It would seem cruel."

"Very cruel," ventured Lucia.

"Of course it would, you mustn't do it," said Miss Aubrey, promptly. "My dear Mrs. Dalrymple, as long as it is your son, it will be very different. And really I have no doubt we shall find it a great improvement. They are useful creatures sometimes, these men. You know how nearly we came into a serious accident the other day when that strap gave way on my saddle, and none of us knew what to do. Let him come, by all means."

And so Frank Dalrymple, handsome, and gallant, and gay, came to make them merrier still.

If there was a little glinting sparkle under Lucia's golden eyelashes when the young gentleman was introduced, and if the latter gave her soft fingers a significant pressure, no one else was the wiser.

Miss Aubrey made no concealment of her appreciation of the addition to the circle, and