him so interested in anything. When she had walked with him for
nearly an hour she was obliged to devote some time to Watkins in the
vegetable garden; then came dinner; but after that meal there always was
a lull in the day's occupation for Frances, for the squire went to sleep
over his pipe, and never cared to be aroused or spoken to until his
strong coffee was brought to him at nine o'clock.

On this particular evening Frances felt her heart beat with a pleased
and quickened movement. She had her unopened letter to read. She would
go to the rose arbor, and have a quiet time there while her father
slept. She was very fond of Keats, and she took a volume of his poems
under her arm, for, of course, the letter would not occupy her many
moments. The rose arbor commanded a full view of the whole garden, and
Frances made a graceful picture in her soft light-gray dress, as she
stepped into it. She sat down in one of the wicker chairs, laid her copy
of Keats on the rustic table, spread the bright shawl on her lap, and
took the foreign letter out of her pocket.

"It is sure to be nothing in the least interesting," she said to
herself. "Still, there is some excitement about it till it is opened."
And as she spoke she moved to the door of the arbor.

Once again she played with the envelope and examined the writing. Then
she drew a closely written sheet out of its inclosure, spread it open on
her lap, and began to read.

As she did so, swiftly and silently there rose into her cheeks a
beautiful bloom. Her eyelids quivered, her hand shook; the bloom was
succeeded by a pallor. With feverish haste her quick eyes flew over the
paper. She turned the page and gasped slightly for breath. She raised
her head, and her big, dark eyes were full of tears, and a radiant,
tender smile parted her lips.

"Thank God!" she said; "oh, this is wonderful! Oh, thank God!"

Once again she read the letter, twice, three times, four times. Then she
folded it up, raised it to her lips, and kissed it. This time she did
not return it to her pocket, but, opening her dress, slipped it inside,
so that it lay against her heart.

"Miss Frances!" old Watkins was seen hobbling down the path. "You hasn't
said what's to be done with the bees. They are sure to swarm to-morrow,
and--and--why, miss, I seem to have startled you like--"

"Oh, not at all, Watkins; I will come with you now, and we will make
some arrangement about the bees."

Frances came out of th