uld take these nightly walks with him unknown to me?"

"The strongest claim that man can have," was the answer; "he is my
son--he is Kate's only brother!"

"My God! Captain Danton, what are you saying?"

"The truth," Captain Danton answered, in a broken voice. "Heaven help
me--Heaven pity him! The wretched man whose story you have heard--who
dwells a captive under this roof--is my only son, Henry Danton."

He covered his face with his hands. Reginald Stanford sat confounded.

"I never dreamed of this," he said aghast. "I thought your son was
dead!"

"They all think so," said the Captain, without looking up; "but you know
the truth. Some day, before long, you shall visit him, when I have
prepared him for your coming. You understand all you heard and saw now?"

"My dear sir!" exclaimed Stanford, grasping the elder man's hand;
"forgive me! No matter what I saw, I must have been mad to doubt Kate.
Your secret is as safe with me as with yourself. I shall leave you now;
I must see Kate."

"Yes, poor child! Love her and trust her with your whole heart,
Reginald, for she is worthy."

Reginald Stanford went out, still bewildered by all he had heard, and
returned to the drawing-room. Kate sat as he had left her, looking
dreamily out at the bright sky.

"My dearest," he said bending over her, and touching the white brow:
"can you ever forgive me for doubting you? You are the truest, the best,
the bravest of women."

She lifted her loving eyes, filled with tears, to the handsome face of
her betrothed.

"To those I love I hope I am--and more. Before I grow false or
treacherous, I pray Heaven that I may die."

CHAPTER XII.

HARRY DANTON.

A spring-like afternoon. The March sun bright in the Canadian sky, the
wind soft and genial, and a silvery mist hanging over the river and
marshes. Little floods from the fast-melting snow poured through the
grounds; the ice-frozen fish-pond was thawing out under the melting
influence of the sunshine, and rubber shoes and tucked-up skirts were
indispensable outdoor necessaries.

Rose Danton, rubber-shoes, tucked-up skirts, and all, was trying to kill
time this pleasant afternoon, sauntering aimlessly through the wet
grounds. Very pretty and coquettish she looked, with that crimson
petticoat showing under her dark silk dress; that jockey-hat and feather
set jauntily on her sunshiny curls; but her prettiness was only vanity
and vexation of spirit to Rose. Where was the goo