t his own past was a merely academic speculation
with which Warwick did not trouble himself. With his sister the
question had evidently become a matter of conscience,--a difficult
subject with which to deal in a person of Rena's temperament.

"My dear sister," he replied, "why should he know? We haven't asked
him for his pedigree; we don't care to know it. If he cares for ours,
he should ask for it, and it would then be time enough to raise the
question. You love him, I imagine, and wish to make him happy?"

It is the highest wish of the woman who loves. The enamored man seeks
his own happiness; the loving woman finds no sacrifice too great for
the loved one. The fiction of chivalry made man serve woman; the fact
of human nature makes woman happiest when serving where she loves.

"Yes, oh, yes," Rena exclaimed with fervor, clasping her hands
unconsciously. "I'm afraid he'd be unhappy if he knew, and it would
make me miserable to think him unhappy."

"Well, then," said Warwick, "suppose we should tell him our secret and
put ourselves in his power, and that he should then conclude that he
couldn't marry you? Do you imagine he would be any happier than he is
now, or than if he should never know?"

Ah, no! she could not think so. One could not tear love out of one's
heart without pain and suffering.

There was a knock at the door. Warwick opened it to the nurse, who
stood with little Albert in her arms.

"Please, suh," said the girl, with a curtsy, "de baby 's be'n oryin'
an' frettin' fer Miss Rena, an' I 'lowed she mought want me ter fetch
'im, ef it wouldn't 'sturb her."

"Give me the darling," exclaimed Rena, coming forward and taking the
child from the nurse. "It wants its auntie. Come to its auntie, bless
its little heart!"

Little Albert crowed with pleasure and put up his pretty mouth for a
kiss. Warwick found the sight a pleasant one. If he could but quiet
his sister's troublesome scruples, he might erelong see her fondling
beautiful children of her own. Even if Rena were willing to risk her
happiness, and he to endanger his position, by a quixotic frankness,
the future of his child must not be compromised.

"You wouldn't want to make George unhappy," Warwick resumed when the
nurse retired. "Very well; would you not be willing, for his sake, to
keep a secret--your secret and mine, and that of the innocent child in
your arms? Would you involve all of us in difficulties merely to
secure you