day, for I dreaded meeting Kate. Those deep, clear eyes
of hers seem to have a way of reading one's very thoughts, and
seeing through all falsehoods. Eeny's next question was for her
father. I said he had gone to Montreal on sudden business, and I
did not know when he would return--probably soon.

She went down-stairs to tell Kate, and I kept my chamber till the
afternoon. I went down to dinner, calm once more. It was
unspeakably dull and dreary, we three alone, where a few days ago
we were so many. No one came all evening, and the hours wore away,
long, and lonely, and silent. We were all oppressed and dismal. I
hardly dared to look at Kate, who sat playing softly in the dim
piano-recess.

This morning brought me the dreaded despatch. Captain Danton had
gone to Quebec; Mr. Stanford was not in Montreal.

I cannot describe to you how I passed yesterday. I never was so
miserable in all my life. It went to my heart to see Kate so happy
and busy with the dressmakers, giving orders about those
wedding-garments she is never to wear. It was a day of unutterable
wretchedness, and the evening was as dull and dreary as its
predecessor. Father Francis came up for an hour, and his sharp eyes
detected the trouble in my face. I would have told him if Kate had
not been there; but it was impossible, and I had to prevaricate.

This morning has brought no news; the suspense is horrible. Heaven
help Kate! I can write no more.

Your affectionate sister,

Grace Danton

[Lieutenant R. R. Stanford to Major Lauderdale.]

Quebec, May 17.

Dear Lauderdale:--The deed is done, the game is up, the play
is played out--Reginald Reinecourt Stanford is a married man.

You have read, when a guileless little chap in roundabouts, "The
Children of the Abbey," and other tales of like kidney. They were
romantic and sentimental, weren't they? Well, old fellow, not one
of them was half so romantic or sentimental as this marriage of
mine. There were villains in them, too--Colonel Belgrave, and so
forth--black-hearted monsters, without one redeeming trait. I tell
you, Lauderdale, none of these unmitigated rascals were half so bad
as I am. Think of me at my worst, a scoundrel of the deepest dye,
and you will about hit the mark. My dear little, pretty little Rose
i