come from the depths of her nature bent her head and kissed him softly
on the cheek.

When the eggnog was being served and the guests were broken up into
knots and groups, all discussing the beauty of the reading, she suddenly
left Willits, who had followed her every move as if he had a prior right
to her person, and going up to St. George, led him out of the room to
one of the sofas in Richard's study, her lips quivering, the undried
tears still trembling on her eyelids. She did not release his hand as
they took their seats. Her fingers closed only the tighter, as if she
feared he would slip from her grasp.

"It was all so beautiful and so terrible, Uncle George," she moaned at
last--"and all so true. Such awful mistakes are made and then it is too
late. And nobody understands--nobody--nobody!" She paused, as if the
mere utterance pained her, and then to St. George's amazement asked
abruptly "Is there nothing yet from Harry?"

St. George looked at her keenly, wondering whether he had caught the
words aright. It had been months since Harry's name had crossed her
lips.

"No, nothing," he answered simply, trying to fathom her purpose and
completely at sea as to her real motive--"not for some months. Not since
he left the ship."

"And do you think he is in any danger?" She had released his hand, and
with her fingers resting on the sleeve of his coat sat looking into his
eyes as if to read their meaning.

"I don't know," he replied in a non-committal tone, still trying to
understand her purpose. "He meant then to go to the mountains, so he
wrote his mother. This may account for our not hearing. Why do you ask?
Have you had any news of him yourself?" he added, studying her face for
some solution of her strange attitude.

She sank back on the cushions. "No, he never writes to me." Then, as
if some new train of thought had forced its way into her mind, she
exclaimed suddenly: "What mountains?"

"Some range back of Rio, if I remember rightly. He said he--"

"Rio! But there is yellow fever at Rio!" she cried, with a start as she
sat erect in her seat, the pupils of her eyes grown to twice their size.
"Father lost half of one of his crews at Rio. He heard so to-day. It
would be dreadful for--for--his mother--if anything should happen to
him."

Again St. George scrutinized her face, trying to probe deep down in her
heart. Had she, after all, some affection left for this boy lover--and
her future husband within hearing