rning was warmer and more enervating than September
mornings in Maryland usually are, though the month is generally conceded
to be a trying one. Even at beautiful Severndale where, if at any point
along the river, a refreshing breeze could almost always be counted
upon, the air seemed heavy and lifeless, as though the intense heat of
the summer had taken from it every particle of its revivifying
qualities.

In the pretty breakfast room the long French windows, giving upon the
broad piazza, stood wide open; the leaves upon the great beeches and
maples which graced the extensive lawn beyond, hung limp and motionless;
the sunlight even at that early hour beat scorchingly upon the dry
grass, for there had been little rain during August and the vegetation
had suffered severely; every growing thing was coated like a dusty
miller. But within doors all looked most inviting. The room was
scrupulous; its appointments indicated refined taste and constant care;
the breakfast table, laid for two, was dainty and faultless in its
appointments; our old friend, Jerome, moved about noiselessly, giving
last lingering touches, lest any trifle be omitted which might add to
the comfort and sense of harmony which seemed so much a part of his
young mistress's life. As he straightened a fruit knife here, or set
right a fold of the snowy breakfast cloth, he kept up a low-murmured
monologue after the manner of his race. Very little escaped old Jerome's
sharp eyes and keen ears, and within the past forty-eight hours they had
found plenty to see or hear, for a guest had come to Severndale. Yes, a
most unusual type of guest, too. As a rule Severndale's guests brought
unalloyed pleasure to its young hostess and her servants, or to her
sailor father if he happened to be enjoying one of his rare leaves, for
Captain Stewart had been on sea-duty for many successive years,
preferring it to land duty since his wife's death when Peggy, his only
child, was but six years of age. Severndale had held only sad memories
for him since that day, nearly ten years ago, in spite of the little
girl growing up there, cared for by the old housekeeper and the
servants, some of whom had been on the estate as long as Neil Stewart
could remember.

But nine years had slipped away since Peggy's mother's death, and the
little child had changed into a very lovely young girl, with whom the
father was in reality just becoming acquainted. He had spent more time
with her during th