te deserted," said he. "But I have called with
an invitation from my sister, Mrs. Boniface Newt, for this evening to a
small party. She incloses her card, and begs you to waive the formality
of a call."

That was the way that Lawrence Newt and Hope Wayne came to be sitting
on the cane sofa under the great orange-tree in Boniface Newt's
conservatory.

They had entered the room and made their bows to Mrs. Nancy; and Mr.
Lawrence, wishing to talk to Miss Hope, had led her by another way to
the conservatory, and so Mr. Abel had failed to see them.

As they sat under the tree Lawrence Newt conversed with Hope in a tone of
earnest and respectful tenderness that touched her heart. She could not
understand the winning kindliness of his manner, nor could she resist it.
He spoke of her home with an accuracy of detail that surprised her.

"It was not the same house in my day, and you, perhaps, hardly remember
much of the old one. The house is changed, but nothing else; no, nothing
else," he added, musingly, and with the same dreamy expression in his
eyes that was in them when he leaned against his office window and
watched the ships--while his mind sailed swifter and farther than they.

"They can not touch the waving outline of the hills that you see from the
lawn, nor the pine-trees that shade the windows. Does the little brook
still flow in the meadow below? And do you understand the pine-trees? Do
they tell any tales?"

He asked it with a half-mournful gayety. He asked as if he both longed
and feared that she should say, "Yes, they have told me: I know all."

The murmurs of the singing came floating out to them as they sat. Hope
was happy and trustful. She was in the house of Abel--she should see
him--she should hear him! And this dear gentleman--not exactly like a
father nor an uncle--well, yes, perhaps a young uncle--he is brother of
Abel's mother, and he mysteriously knows so much about Pinewood, and his
smiling voice has a tear in it as he speaks of old days. I love him
already--I trust him entirely--I have found a friend.

"Shall we go in again?" said Lawrence Newt. But they saw some one
approaching, and before they arose, while they were still silent, and
Hope's heart was like the dawning summer heaven, she suddenly heard Abel
Newt's words, and watched him, speechlessly, as he and his companion
glided by her into the darkness. It was the vision of a moment; but in
the attitude, the tone, the whole impression, Hope