oftener for the young girl who years ago refused the love offered
her by Richard Harrington; and then she wondered if it were
possible that Edith had so soon ceased to care for Arthur,

"I can tell from her manner," she thought; and with her mind thus
brought to the call she would make at Collingwood, she dried her
eyes, and speaking playfully to her dumb pets, returned to the
house a sad, subdued woman, whose part in the drama of Richard
Harrington was effectually played out.

That afternoon, about three o'clock, a carriage bearing Grace
Atherton, wound slowly up the hill to Collingwood and when it
reached the door a radiant, beautiful woman stepped out, her face
all wreathed in smiles and her voice full of sweetness as she
greeted Richard, who came forth to meet her.

"A pretty march you've stolen upon me," she began, in a light,
bantering tone--"you and Edith--never asked my consent or said so
much as 'by your leave' but no matter, I congratulate you all the
same. I fancied it would end in this. Where is she--the bride-
elect?"

Richard was stunned with such a volley of words from one whom he
supposed ignorant of the matter, and observing his evident
surprise Grace continued, "You wonder how I know, Victor told me
this morning; he was too much delighted to keep it to himself. But
say, where is Edith?"

"Here I am," and advancing from the parlor, where she had
overheard the whole, Edith laughed a gay, musical laugh, as hollow