ure. Raymond's voice, when he addressed Amita, was low and earnest;
not from any significance of matter, but from its frank confidential
quality.

"They are discussing the new railroad project, and your relations are
all opposed to it; to-morrow they will each apply privately to Aladdin
for the privilege of subscribing."

"I have never seen a railroad," said Amita, slightly coloring; "but you
are an engineer, and I know they must be some thing very clever."

Notwithstanding the coolness of the night, a full moon drew the guests
to the veranda, where coffee was served, and where, mysteriously
muffled in cloaks and shawls, the party took upon itself the appearance
of groups of dominoed masqueraders, scattered along the veranda and on
the broad steps of the porch in gypsy-like encampments, from whose
cloaked shadow the moonlight occasionally glittered upon a varnished
boot or peeping satin slipper. Two or three of these groups had
resolved themselves into detached couples, who wandered down the acacia
walk to the sound of a harp in the grand saloon or the occasional
uplifting of a thin Spanish tenor. Two of these couples were Maruja
and Garnier, followed by Amita and Raymond.

"You are restless to-night, Maruja," said Amita, shyly endeavoring to
make a show of keeping up with her sister's boyish stride, in spite of
Raymond's reluctance. "You are paying for your wakefulness to-day."

The same idea passed through the minds of both men. She was missing
the excitement of Captain Carroll's presence.

"The air is so refreshing away from the house," responded Maruja, with
a bright energy that belied any suggestion of fatigue or moral
disquietude. "I'm tired of running against those turtle-doves in the
walks and bushes. Let us keep on to the lane. If you are tired, Mr.
Raymond will give you his arm."

They kept on, led by the indomitable little figure, who, for once, did
not seem to linger over the attentions, both piquant and tender, with
which Garnier improved his opportunity. Given a shadowy lane, a
lovers' moon, a pair of bright and not unkindly eyes, a charming and
not distant figure--what more could he want? Yet he wished she hadn't
walked so fast. One might be vivacious, audacious, brilliant, at an
Indian trot; but impassioned--never! The pace increased; they were
actually hurrying. More than that, Maruja had struck into a little
trot; her lithe body swaying from side to side, her little feet
straight as