k pleasant, and touched it with a light never
before seen there, and strengthened it with a touch which banished for
a time the evil lines of irresolution and weakness.

Captain Bertram had made up his mind--he had been rarely blessed--he was
unworthy, but a treasure of good price had been vouchsafed to him. He
would live worthy of her. He would cast away the useless life of the
past; he would cease to be extravagant--his debts should be wiped off
and never incurred again. He would be honorable, true--a gentleman in
every sense of the word--the girl who was lowly born, but whose heart
was so patrician, and whose spirit was so loyal, should guide him in all
things.

Captain Bertram had only one uncomfortable corner in his heart just
then. He had one little secret chamber which he kept locked, and into
which, even in spirit, he never cared to enter. Men, when they are
turning over new leaves, often keep this little reserve-room of the past
uncleaned, unpurified. All else shall be swept and garnished, but this
room, carefully locked, can reveal no secrets. From its door the ghost
of past evil-doing can surely not escape to confront and destroy. So
Captain Bertram thought. He must forget Josephine; the wrong he had done
her, the vows he had made to her, could never be washed out or forgiven,
but in all else he would be perfect in the future.

Before he returned to Northbury for the express purpose of wooing and
winning Beatrice Meadowsweet, he had written to Josephine. In his letter
he had promised to marry her; he had promised to confide all about her
to his mother. He said he should be at home for a month, and during that
month he would watch his opportunity and break the news of his
engagement to Josephine to his parent. He had asked Josephine to give
him a month to do this in, and he had begged of her to leave Northbury
for the time, assuring her that her presence at his mother's gates would
be highly detrimental to their mutual interests.

Josephine had departed, and Bertram, after the fashion of men of his
class, had almost forgotten her existence in his pursuit of a new quest.

Now he was engaged, and his wedding-bells would soon ring. If the
thought of Josephine Hart did flash now and then before his mental
vision, he could only hope devoutly that she would learn nothing of his
betrothal to Beatrice until after their marriage. "She may appear then,
and I may have to tell Bee everything," he soliloquized. "Well,