ng-room window watching the fast-falling snow. It
had been a long day to her--a long, weary, aimless day. She had tried to
read, to play, to sing, to work; and failed in all. She had visited Mr.
Richards; she had wandered, in a lost sort of way, from room to room;
she had lain listlessly on sofas, and tried to sleep, all in vain. The
demon of ennui had taken possession of her; and now, at the end of every
resource, she stood looking drearily out at the wintry scene. She was
dressed for the evening, and looked like a picture, buttoned up in that
black velvet jacket, its rich darkness such a foil to her fair face and
shining golden hair. Grace was her only companion--Grace sitting
serenely braiding an apron for herself, Rose was fathoms deep in "Les
Miserables," and Eeny was drumming on the piano in the drawing-room.
There had been a long silence, but presently Grace looked up from her
work, and spoke.

"This wintry scene is new to you, Miss Danton. You don't have such wild
snow storms in England?"

Kate glanced round, a little surprised.

It was very rarely indeed her father's housekeeper voluntarily addressed
her.

"No," she said, "not like this; but I like it. We ought to have
sleighing to-morrow, if it continues."

"Probably. We do not often have sleighing, though, in November."

There was another pause.

Kate yawned behind her white hand.

"I wish Father Francis would come up," she said wearily. "He is the only
person in St. Croix worth talking to."

The dark, short November afternoon was deepening with snowy night, when
through the ghostly twilight the buggy from the station whirled up to
the door, and two gentlemen alighted. Great-coats, with upturned
collars, and hats pulled down, disguised both, but Kate recognized her
father, the taller and stouter, with a cry of delight.

"Papa!" she exclaimed; and ran out of the room to meet him. He was just
entering, his jovial laugh ringing through the house as he shook the
snow off, and caught her in his wet arms.

"Glad to be home again, Kate! You don't mind a cold kiss, do you? Let me
present an old friend whom you don't expect, I'll wager."

The gentleman behind him came forward. A gentleman neither very young,
nor very handsome, nor very tall; at once plain-looking and
proud-looking. The pale twilight was bright enough for Kate to recognize
him as he took off his hat.

"Sir Ronald Keith!" she cried, intense surprise in every line of her
face; "why, who