re to all the pretty music!"

Violet glances up to meet her husband's smile of assent. "Next time,
Cecil," she says, slipping the little hand in hers.

They do not have to wait very long. After a mazourka comes a waltz, and
Cecil is made supremely happy.

"How utterly bewitching they look!" says a low, melodious voice at
Floyd Grandon's side. "How tall Cecil has grown in a year!"

"A year!" he repeats. Yes, it is a year ago that his old life ended,
and how much has been crowded in that brief while.

"You are a wise man," madame says, in an indescribable tone. "You have
not forced your bud into premature blossoming. There might be a decade
between Laura and your wife."

"I wonder if Laura had any real girlhood?" he remarks, musingly.

"Why, yes, at fourteen, perhaps. That is the way with most of us. But
hers, not beginning so soon, will have the longer reign. How lovely the
river looks to-night! I should like to go down on the terrace," she
adds, after a moment.

"I am at your service," and he rises.

They cross the lawn amid groups sauntering in the moonlight, keeping
time to the music, if they do not dance. The whole scene is like
enchantment. They stroll on and on, down the steps and then over the
broad strip of grass. The cool air blows up along the shore, and with
the tide coming in every ripple is crested with silver. Over at the
edge of the horizon the stars dare to shine out amid the silence of the
rocks and woods opposite, making a suggestive, shadowy land.

"'On such a night,'" she quotes, with a smile that might beguile a
man's soul.

"We could not have had anything more beautiful. And I owe a great deal
of the perfection of the scene to you, since the season was in other
hands. Allow me to express my utmost gratitude."

"I am glad to be able to add to your pleasure in any way," she answers,
with a kind of careless joy. "Possibly I may add to your displeasure.
May I make a confession?" and she smiles again.

"To me?" not caring to conceal his surprise.

"Yes, to you. I shall bind you by all manner of promises, but the
murder must out."

"Is it as grave as that?"

"Yes. If you had not gone by the heats and caprices of youthful
passion, you would be less able to extend your mantle of charity. I
care enough for your good opinion and for that of your family not to be
placed in a false light by the imprudence of youth,--shall we call it
that?"

"I cannot imagine," he begins, puzzled, and yet a