ss
and rose without haste. She had a choice little repertory of old songs
and ballads, that she could produce without hesitation from
memory,--"My mother bids me bind my hair," or "Bid your faithful Ariel
fly," and such-like old songs, in which there is more melody than in a
hundred new ones, and which she sang in a simple, artless fashion that
pleased the elder people greatly. Dulce could do more than this, but
her voice had never been properly tutored, and she sang her bird-music
in bird-fashion, rather wildly and shrilly, with small respect to
rule and art, nevertheless making a pleasing noise, a young foreigner
once told her.

When Nan had exhausted her little stock, Mr. Mayne peremptorily
invited them to a round game; and the rest of the evening was spent in
trying to master the mysteries of a new game, over the involved rules
of which Mr. Mayne as usual, wrangled fiercely with everybody, while
Dick shrugged his shoulders and shuffled his cards with such evident
ill-humor that Nan hurried her sisters away half an hour before the
usual time, in terror of an outbreak.

It was an utterly disappointing evening; and, to make matters worse,
Mr. Mayne actually lit his cigar and strolled down the garden-paths,
keeping quite close to Nan, and showing such obvious intention of
accompanying them to the very gate of the cottage that there could be
no thought of any sweet lingering in the dusk.

"I will be even with him," growled Dick, who was in a state of
suppressed irritation under this unexpected surveillance; and in the
darkest part of the road he twitched Nan's sleeve to attract her
attention, and whispered, in so low a voice that his father could not
hear him, "This is not good-bye. I will be round at the cottage
to-morrow morning;" and Nan nodded hurriedly, and then turned her head
to answer Mr. Mayne's last question.

If Dick had put all his feelings in his hand-shake, it could not have
spoken to Nan more eloquently of the young man's wrath and chagrin and
concealed tenderness. Nan shot him one of her swift straightforward
looks in answer.

"Nevermind," it seemed to say; "we shall have to-morrow;" and then she
bade them cheerfully good-night.

Dorothy met her in the hall, and put down her chamber-candlestick.

"Has the mother gone to bed yet, Dorothy?" questioned the young
mistress, speaking still with that enforced cheerfulness.

"No, Miss Nan; she is still in there," jerking her head in the
direction of th