eupon the young officer immediately accepted Cousin Copeland's
invitation, and took his seat again with quiet deliberation. Gardis sank
down upon the sofa. "Very well," she thought desperately, "this time it
is hopeless. Nothing can be done."

And hopeless it was. Pompey brought in a candle, and placed it upon the
table, where its dim light made the large apartment more dismal than
before; the rain poured down outside, and the rising wind rattled the
loose shutters. Dinner was announced--one small fish, potatoes, and
corn-bread. Pale Gardis sat like a statue at the head of the table, and
made no effort to entertain the guest; but Cousin Copeland threw himself
bravely into the breach, and, by way of diversion, related the whole
story of the unchronicled "wife of one of our grandfather's second
cousins," who had turned out to be a most remarkable personage of Welsh
descent, her golden harp having once stood in the very room in which
they were now seated.

"Do you not think, my child, that a--a little fire in your aunt
Margaretta's boudoir would--would be conducive to our comfort?"
suggested the little bachelor, as they rose from the table.

"As you please," said Gardis.

So the three repaired thither, and when the old red curtains were drawn,
and the fire lighted, the little room had at least a semblance of
comfort, whatever may have been in the hearts of its occupants. Gardis
embroidered. Cousin Copeland chatted on in a steady little stream, and
the guest listened. "I will step up stairs to my study, and bring down
that file of documents," said the bachelor, rising. He was gone, and
left only silence behind him. Gardis did not raise her head, but went
steadily on with the embroidered robe of the Queen of Sheba.

"I am thinking," began David Newell, breaking the long pause at last,
"how comfortable you would be, Miss Duke, as the wife of Roger Saxton.
He would take you North, away from this old house, and he would be so
proud and so fond of you."

No answer.

"The place could be put in order if you did not care to sell it, and
your cousin Copeland could live on here as usual; indeed, I could
scarcely imagine him in any other home."

"Nor myself."

"Oh yes, Miss Duke; I can easily imagine you in New York, Paris, or
Vienna. I can easily imagine you at the opera, in the picture-galleries,
or carrying out to the full your exquisite taste in dress."

Down went the embroidery. "Sir, do you mean to insult me?" said t