The afternoon train for Montreal passed through St. Croix at three
o'clock. Kate and Reginald drove to the station with her, and saw her
safely seated beside Doctor Frank. Her veil of drab gauze was down over
her face, flushed and excited; and she kissed her sister good-bye
without lifting it. Reginald Stanford shook hands with her--a long,
warm, lingering clasp--and flashed a bright, electric glance that
thrilled to her inmost heart. An instant later, and the train was in
motion, and Rose was gone.

The morning of the third day after brought a note from Quebec. Rose had
arrived safely, and the Leblanc family were delighted to see her. That
was all.

That evening, Mr. Stanford made the announcement that he was to depart
for Montreal next morning. It was to Kate, of course. She had strolled
down to the gate to meet him, in the red light of the sunset, as he came
home from a day's gunning. He had taken, of late, to being absent a
great deal, fishing and shooting; and those last three days he had been
away from breakfast until dinner.

"Going to Montreal?" repeated Kate. "What for?"

"To see a friend of mine--Major Forsyth. He has come over lately, with
his wife, and I have just heard of it. Besides, I have a few purchases
to make."

He was switching the tremulous spring flowers along the path with his
cane, and not looking at her as he spoke.

"How long shall you be gone?"

He laughed.

"Montreal has no charms for me, you know," he replied; "I shall not
remain there long, probably not over a week."

"The house will be lonely when you are gone--now that Rose is away."

She sighed a little, saying it. Somehow, a vague feeling of uneasiness
had disturbed her of late--something wanting in Reginald--something she
could not define, which used to be there and was gone. She did not like
this readiness of his to leave her on all occasions. She loved him with
such a devoted and entire love, that the shortest parting was to her
acutest pain.

"Are you coming in?" he asked, seeing her linger under the trees.

"Not yet; the evening is too fine."

"Then I must leave you. It will hardly be the thing, I suppose, to go to
dinner in this shooting-jacket."

He entered the house and ran up to his room. The dinner-bell was ringing
before he finished dressing; but when he descended, Kate was still
lingering out of doors. He stood by the window watching her, as she came
slowly up the lawn. The yellow glory of the sunset made