depths that hers was not the only heart to which love had come.

CHAPTER XXXVIII.

That night the diminutive lamp that did duty in the room assigned to
the two brothers burned till long past the hour of midnight. By its
dim light, Ned Rutherford indited a letter to his fiancee, while his
brother quietly paced back and forth, the entire length of the small
apartment, his hands clasped behind him and his head thrown back,--his
usual attitude when in deep thought.

"Getting up another article on the application of electric force?"
inquired Ned, as he paused to watch his brother.

"No," was the reply, "I am thinking at present of a force far more
subtle and more powerful than that of electricity."

"Why, how's that?" asked Ned in surprise, "I thought electricity was
one of your pet hobbies."

"Never mind about my pet hobbies," said his brother, with a smile,
"just continue your writing for the present."

Half an hour later, as Ned folded and sealed the voluminous letter,
and placed upon it the long, foreign address, his brother, watching
him with a curious half smile, said:

"I shall have to give you credit for a great deal of constancy, Ned,
more than I really supposed you possessed."

"How's that?" asked Ned, with a slight blush, "to what do you refer."

"To your fidelity to your affianced," Morton replied, "under the rather
adverse circumstances that attend your suit, and notwithstanding
the unusual attractions by which you have been surrounded here."

"Well, as to that," said Ned, slowly, "I don't know as I deserve so
very much credit. Houston appropriated Miss Gladden to himself pretty
soon after we came here, and besides, she isn't exactly my style,
after all; she would suit Houston a great deal better than me."

"Ah," said his brother, quietly, "and what of the younger lady?
Perhaps she is not your style, either?"

"Well, no, I should say not," Ned replied, with the least perceptible
scorn in his tone, "not but what she is a lovely girl, and I respect
her, and feel sorry for her, but I should think one glimpse of her
family would decide that question, once for all."

"Ned," said Morton Rutherford, pausing in his walk, directly in front
of his brother, "is it possible that you are so blind as not to see
that Miss Maverick, as you call her,--I prefer to call her Lyle,--has
no connection whatever with the family in which she lives?"

"Do you think so?" Ned inquired, with surprise, "I remember