ed laughing
at Fanny's ludicrous description of her sled ride; but overcoming her
merriment, she at length found voice to say, "Fanny is crying because she
thinks you do not like her as well as you used to."

Kate had never dreamed that her husband had once felt more than a
brother's love for the weeping girl before her, and she did not know what
pain her words inflicted on his noble heart. Neither did she think there
was the least ground for Fanny's supposition, and she desired her husband
to say so.

"I cannot say so and tell the truth," said Mr. Miller, "but I can assure
you that Bill Jeffrey's sled had nothing to do with it."

"What was it then?" asked Kate and Fanny, both in the same breath.

Mr. Miller drew Fanny toward him with the freedom of an elder brother,
and, in a low, earnest tone, said: "Did nothing else occur during my
visit, which could have changed my opinion of you?"

Fanny lifted her large blue eyes to Mr. Miller's face with so truthful,
wondering a gaze that he was puzzled. "Can it be," thought he, "that I did
not hear aright, that I was deceived? I will, at least, ask her how she
spent that evening," so he said: "Fanny, do you remember where you were,
or how you were occupied during the last evening of my stay at your
father's?"

At first Fanny seemed trying to recall the events of that night; then she
said: "Oh, yes, I remember now perfectly well. You and Mr. Wilmot had
letters to write, and went to your room early, while father and mother
went to one of the neighbors, leaving Julia and me alone in the sitting
room."

"Did you both remain in the sitting room during the evening?" continued
Mr. Miller.

"Yes," said Fanny, "or, that is, I stayed there all the time; but Julia
was gone a long time, and when she returned she would not tell me where
she had been."

"But were not you and Luce in your room at all that evening?" continued
Mr. Miller.

"Luce!" said Fanny; "I do not remember having seen her once that night;
neither was I in my room until bedtime."

There was so much frankness and apparent truth in Fanny's face and manner
that Mr. Miller never for a moment doubted her. His first feeling was one
of intense happiness at finding that Fanny was, indeed, all he had once
fancied her to be. Back through the channels of his heart rolled, for an
instant, the full tide of his once secretly nurtured affection for her. It
was for an instant, however; for one look at the beautiful Kate convin