ring, and
wonder if the day will ever come when we two shall be
reunited,--when I shall be able to welcome you to my English home,
where, in spite of prejudices, you will be happy, because you will
be with me."

Here, unluckily, because of the trembling of her fingers, a large spot
of ink falls heavily from her pen upon the half-written page beneath,
destroying it.

With an exclamation expressive of impatience, Marcia pushes the sheet
to one side and hastily commences again upon another. This time she is
more successful, and has reached almost the last word in her final
tender message, when a footstep approaching disturbs her. Gathering up
her papers, she quits the library by its second door, and, gaining her
own room, finishes and seals her packet.

Not until then does she perceive that the blotted sheet is no longer in
her possession,--that by some untoward accident she must have forgotten
it behind her in her flight.

Consternation seizes her. Whose were the footsteps that broke in upon
her quietude? Why had she not stood her ground? With a beating heart
she runs down-stairs, enters the library once more with cautious steps,
only to find it empty. But, search as she may, the missing paper is not
to be found.

What if it has fallen into her grandfather's keeping! A cold horror
falls upon her. After all these weary years of hated servitude to be
undone! It is impossible even fickle fortune should play her such a
deadly trick!

Yet the horror continues until she finds herself again face to face
with her grandfather. He is more than usually gracious,--indeed, almost
marked in his attentions to her,--and once more Marcia breathes freely.
No; probably the paper was destroyed; even she herself in a fit of
abstraction may have torn it up before leaving the library.

The evening, being Sunday, proves even duller than usual. Mr. Amherst,
with an amount of consideration not to be expected, retires to rest
early. The others fall insensibly into the silent, dozy state. Mr.
Darley gives way to a gentle snore. It is the gentlest thing
imaginable, but effectual. Tedcastle starts to his feet and gives the
fire a vigorous poke. He also trips very successfully over the
footstool, that goes far to make poor Darley's slumbers blest, and
brings that gentleman into a sitting posture.

"This will never do," Luttrell says, when he has apologized profusely
to his awakened friend. "We are all growing sleepy. Potts, e