sunbeam whose smiles
greeted her of an evening; but it was still a sunbeam. The sweet looks
and words and loving attention were still always ready. As Nea watched
her child her heart would swell with pride and reverence. She
recognized the innate strength and power of self-sacrifice that
Maurice had left her as his legacy. "Of all my children, Fern is most
like her father," Mrs. Trafford would say; "she is stronger than she
looks--she would rather die than tell me again that she is unhappy."

But Fern would not have owned that her life was unhappy as long as she
had her mother to love her. She was taking herself to task this
afternoon as she sat alone--for Fluff had escaped as usual to Mrs.
Watkins's--and was blaming herself for her discontent; and then she
sung very softly a verse of her favorite hymn--

"He that thou blessest is our good,
And unblest good is ill,
And all is right that seems most wrong
If it be Thy sweet will."

But almost before she had finished the last line, she was startled by
her brother's abrupt entrance.

"Percy! oh, I did not hear you," she faltered, and she turned a little
pale, and her heart began to beat more quickly. It was foolish of her,
but she never heard Percy's step without listening involuntarily for
the quick light tread that used to follow it, but that never came now.

"You are alone," he said, quickly, with a keen glance round the room.
"Well, it is best because I wanted to speak to you. Have you heard
from Miss Davenport lately, Fern?"

"Yes," she stammered, raising her soft eyes to his face with a pitying
expression; "I had a letter the other day."

"Well," impatiently, "does she say when they are coming back?"

"In another fortnight--at least they mean to start then;" and there
she stopped, and looked at him very piteously. "How I wish mother
would come; she will not be very long, and--and I would rather that
you heard it from her."

"Do you mean that you have anything special to tell me?" he asked,
struck by her manner.

"Oh, I wish you had not asked me," she returned, clasping her hands;
"you are so fond of Crystal, and it will make you terribly unhappy;
but mother said we ought to tell you, Percy, dear. There was never any
hope for you--you know she always told you so; and now Crystal is
married."

"Married!" he almost shouted, and his handsome young face seemed to
grow sharp and pale. "Married! Pshaw! you are jesting, Fern."

"Dear Percy," she