the child's cheek, and patting her kindly on the head; "how are you,
you dark-eyed witch," but as he spoke, his eyes glanced anxiously
round the room.

"We never expected to see you to-night, Percy, dear," observed Fern,
as she greeted him affectionately, and then gave her hand with a
slight blush to the young man who was following him. "Mother will be
so sorry to miss you; she was obliged to go out again. One of the
girls at Miss Martingale's is ill, and Miss Theresa seems fidgety
about her, so mother said she would sit with the invalid for an hour
or two."

"I suppose Miss Davenport is out too"--walking to the fire-place to
warm his hands.

"Yes, dear; there is a children's party at the Nortons'; it is little
Nora's birthday, and nothing would satisfy the child until Crystal
promised to go and play with them. It is only an early affair, and she
will be back soon, so Fluff and I are waiting tea for her."

"You look very snug here, Miss Trafford," observed the other young
man, whom Fluff had called Mr. Erle. By tacit consent his other name
was never uttered in that house; it would have been too painful to
Mrs. Trafford to hear him addressed as Mr. Huntingdon.

The young men were complete contrasts to each other. Percy Trafford
was tall and slight, he had his mother's fine profile and regular
features, and was a singularly handsome young man; his face would have
been almost perfect, except for the weak, irresolute mouth, hardly
hidden by the dark mustache and a somewhat heavily molded chin that
expressed sullenness and perhaps ill-governed passions.

The bright-faced boy, Nea's first-born and darling, had sadly
deteriorated during the years that he had lived under his
grandfather's roof. His selfishness had taken deeper root; he had
become idle and self-indulgent; his one thought was how to amuse
himself best. In his heart he had no love for the old man, who had
given him the shelter of his roof, and loaded him with kindness; but
all the same he was secretly jealous of his cousin Erle, who, as he
told himself, bitterly, had supplanted him.

Percy's conscience reproached him at times for his desertion of his
widowed mother. He knew that it was a shabby thing for him to be
living in luxury, while she worked for her daily bread; but after all,
he thought it was more her fault than his. She would have none of his
gifts; she would not bend her proud spirit to seek a reconciliation
with her father, though Percy felt