rawn
before one of the deep, bloom-shaded windows of the elegant
drawing-room. He is in genial, after-dinner mood, and that fairy-looking
being, sitting by his side on a low ottoman, is our former friend,
Winnie Morris. But she bears another name now, for she has been three
months a wife--Augustus Lester's girl-bride!

Were that affectionate sister's misgivings of her bachelor brother's
intentions toward that wild-cat girl altogether chimerical, then?
Present appearances would indicate them not to have been altogether
groundless; but really, when the fair Mary fled so precipitately, the
idea of making Winnie Morris his bride had never entered her brother's
cranium. He had regarded her as a pretty child, and delighted in her
sunshiny, buoyant spirit, and felt he would like to keep her near to
cheer and enliven his mansion; but from the moment he saw her presiding
with so much quiet dignity and grace at his table, on that eventful
morning, he resolved to win her heart if possible. The task was by no
means difficult, for an object to which we look up with gratitude and
reverence, 'tis next to impossible not to love. She forgot, in her
devotion to the lofty, high-souled man, her childish fancy for the
frivolous-minded boy, and when Wayland, on her bridal morning, asked
mischievously, "Where was Jack Camford vanished?" she replied, "In a
gold mine beyond the seas, I suppose, brother; but why mention his name
to make discord on this happy hour?"

"It is strange Wayland does not return," remarked Augustus, at length,
rousing from a light doze, and drawing his young wife close to his side.

"I thought you were fast asleep, Auguste," said she; "and here I have
been fanning you so attentively, to keep the mosquitoes away. Well, it
is time for Wayland to come, isn't it? He has been absent more than two
months. You know how he chided me for breaking the promise I made to be
mistress of that pretty cottage he proposed to build up in Tennessee.
Perhaps he is erecting it, and intends to dwell there in proud,
regretful solitude."

"Or, perhaps he is in search of some fair lady to be its mistress, who
may prove less recreant to her promise," suggested Lester.

"May be so," returned Winnie, laughing.

"I look for a letter from him every day," remarked the husband; "there
was a mail-boat in when I came up to dinner. I'll call at the
post-office this evening; very possibly one has arrived."

"I hope so," answered Winnie.

The bel