and there fully opened his heart to her.
He told her all, from the first moment when Barbara began to monopolize
his thoughts, and confessed his struggles against her usurpation of the
place Margaret had so long held.

To say that Mrs. Douglas was astonished does not begin to express the
truth. She listened in helpless wonder. As he went on, and it became
evident to her what a strong hold on his affections Barbara had gained,
the fear arose lest he might be on the brink of a direful
disappointment. At last, when he ended, saying, "I shall tell her all
to-morrow," she could only falter:--

"Is it best so soon, Robert?"

"Soon!" he cried. "It seems as if I have waited years! Say not one word
against it, sister. My mind is made up!"

But he could not tell her the hope Bettina had given, which was singing
joyfully in his heart all the time. And so Mrs. Douglas was tortured all
through the night with miserable forebodings.

The next morning Bettina was troubled at the look of resolve she
understood in Mr. Sumner's face, and almost trembled at the thought of
what she had done. "But I am sure--I am sure," she kept repeating, to
reassure herself.

A last visit to the Academy had been planned for the afternoon. They
walked thither, as they often loved to do, through the narrow, still
streets and across the little foot-bridges. Mrs. Douglas, with Margery
and Miss Sherman, arrived first, and, after a few minutes' delay,
Bettina and Malcom appeared.

"Uncle Robert has taken a gondola to the banker's to get our letters,
mother," said Malcom, in such a peculiar voice that his mother gave him
a quick look of interrogation.

"Where is your sister?" asked Miss Sherman, sharply, turning to Bettina
as Mrs. Douglas passed into an adjoining room.

"Mr. Sumner asked her to help him get the letters," replied she,
demurely.

Miss Sherman reddened, and Malcom's eyes danced.

"How strange!" said Margery, innocently.

The pictures were, unfortunately, of secondary interest to all the group
save Margery; and, as Mr. Sumner and Barbara did not return, they,
before very long, declared themselves tired, and returned home. The
truth was, each one was longing for private thought.

Meanwhile Barbara and Mr. Sumner were on the Grand Canal. The sun shone
brightly, and Mr. Sumner drew the curtains a little closer together to
shield Barbara's face and, perhaps, his own. The gondolier rowed slowly.
"Where to?" he had asked, and was answered