s across
the shallow stream, and coming directly toward her?

Midway he paused, and looked toward the cottage and the light which she
always placed in the window. Then the moon shone full upon his face, and
Jessie Bain looked at him with eyes that fairly bulged from their
sockets. His features were now clearly visible in the bright moonlight.
It was Hubert Varrick in the flesh, surely, or his wraith!

In that first rapid glance she seemed to live an age; then, for the
second time that day, a merciful unconsciousness seized her.

It was gray dawn when she regained her senses and crept back,
terror-stricken, to the house.

Was it the idle fancy of her own vivid imagination, or did she really
see the image of Hubert Varrick confronting her by the brook as the
midnight bells of All-Halloween rang out slowly and solemnly on the
crisp, chilly night air?

"I must be going mad--my brain must be turning," thought the girl,
shivering in every limb as she walked slowly back to the house.

The sun was up high in the heavens ere her uncle returned.

"Such a time as we've had, lass!" he cried, throwing down his cap. "A
steamer was wrecked the night before last, and all day yesterday and all
last night we were busy doing our utmost for the poor creatures who
barely escaped with their lives. We saved a good many who were in the
water for many hours, holding on to planks or life-preservers, and there
are many lost. It was the steamer 'St. Lawrence,' heavily laden, that
was to have connected with the boat for Montreal, for which most of the
passengers were bound. There is one woman whom they are bringing here. I
came on ahead to have you prepare a bed for her. Every house has been
called upon to give shelter to some one. It will make you a little more
work, lass, but it will only be for a little while."

"I shall be glad of the work, for it will occupy my time and attention,"
declared Jessie.

She had scarcely uttered the words ere the men were seen approaching
with their burden. They brought the woman in and placed her on Jessie's
little cot.

"Oh, how beautiful she is!" murmured Jessie, little dreaming who it was
that she was sheltering beneath that roof.

CHAPTER XVIII.

WEDDING BELLS OUT OF TUNE.

Let us return to Hubert Varrick, and the marriage which was the
all-absorbing topic in fashionable circles.

Mrs. Varrick had sent a note to her son at his hotel, begging for a
reconciliation, and stating that she