r own credit.

She had received a telegram, she said, from a friend who had just lost
her father, and who was in great affliction. And she must go on
immediately to comfort that bereaved soul.

The Misses Crane, as usual, thought she was an angel in woman's form,
and bade her heaven speed on her benevolent errand.

And now she stood upon the deck of the "Pocahontas," waiting for that
traveling companion whom she had fatally beguiled to be her escort.

The boat was getting up her steam, and yet he had not made his
appearance.

What if he should not come, after all?

Just as she asked this question it was answered by his rapid approach.

He came up, traveling-bag in hand, happy, smiling, radiant.

"Mrs. Grey, I have been looking for you all over the boat. I feared that
I had missed you," he said, gayly, holding out his hand.

"I have been waiting for you here," she answered, with a smile.

"I am glad to find you at last. But will you not come into the cabin?
The deck is not a pleasant place while the boat is at the wharf," he
said, as he offered her his arm.

She thanked him with a smile, took his arm and let him lead her into the
saloon.

It was at that moment empty of other visitors. And those two were
_tete-a-tete_.

He gave her a pleasant seat, placed himself beside her, and then and
there he told her of his betrothal to Emma Cavendish.

Of course she already knew all about it. But he was not aware of her
knowledge. And his motive in announcing the intelligence to her was
evident even to Mary Grey's vanity-blinded mind. It was to set their own
relations at once upon a true basis, and prevent all misunderstanding
and all false hopes growing out of their long-lost love.

Although she had known all this so well before he spoke of it, yet it
required all her powers of self-control and duplicity to listen quietly
while he spoke of her rival and to affect a sympathy with his happiness.

Yet she did this so well that he was thoroughly deceived.

"It was all a foolish mistake our fancying we loved each other so much,
was it not, Alden, dear?" she inquired, with an arch smile.

"I think so," he answered, quite frankly.

"I am glad to hear you admit that, for now we can understand each other
and be good friends, and nothing more," she added, sweetly.

"Yes, good friends always, Mary," he agreed.

He was so happy in his blessed love for Emma Cavendish that he felt
kindly toward all the world, and especia