em to her friends. When Stanton entered the room all observed
the strong resemblance between him and Dr. Lacey. At last Mr. Miller spoke
of it, and Stanton replied, "Yes, I've been told so before. Dr. Lacey is
my cousin."

"Indeed!" said Mr. Miller. Then turning to his wife, he added, "Where is
Fanny? She ought to be here. It might do her as much good as seeing the
doctor himself."

"I should like to see Miss Fanny," said Stanton, "as I am told she is to
be my cousin."

A malicious smile curled Julia's lip, as she thought, "I think it is very
doubtful whether she is ever your cousin"; but Mrs. Miller arose and said,
"I think she is in her room. I will call her."

Going to Fanny's room she knocked gently at the door; there was no
response, and she knocked again more loudly. But still there was no
answer; and Mrs. Miller thought she could distinguish a low, stifled sob.
Pushing open the door, she saw the usually gay-hearted Fanny seated on the
floor, her head resting on a chair, over which her hair fell like a golden
gleam of sunlight. A second glance convinced Kate that Fanny was weeping.

"Why, Fanny," said she, "what is the matter? What are you crying for?"

Fanny did not reply, but as Mrs. Miller drew her up from the floor and
placed her on the sofa, she laid her head in Kate's lap and wept still
more passionately. At length Mrs. Miller succeeded in soothing her, and
then insisted on knowing what was the cause of her distress.

"Oh," said Fanny, "do not ask me, for I can only tell you that nobody
loves me long at a time--nobody but my dear old father, mother, and the
blacks."

"You should not say so, Fanny dear," said Kate. "You know we all love you
very much, and you say that within a few weeks Julia has been uniformly
kind and affectionate to you."

"Yes, I know she is, but--"

"But what?" said Mrs. Miller. "Anything the trouble with Dr. Lacey?"

"Yes, that's it! That's it!" said Fanny in a low voice.

"Why, what's the matter? Is he sick?" asked Kate.

"Oh, no. If he were I would go to him. But, Mrs. Miller, for four long
weeks he has not written me one word. Now if he were sick or dead,
somebody would write to me; but it isn't that--I am afraid he's false.
Julia thinks he is, and she is sorry for me, there is some comfort in
that."

"Not written in four weeks? Perhaps he has written and his letters have
been miscarried," said Kate.

"Oh, no, that cannot be," answered Fanny. "His first four letters