"Oh! it isn't that, papa. I have not offended her. She has only just returned from the store, but there's something the matter with her, for her very looks frightened me."

Being thus admonished Mr. Sherwood was soon in Dexie's room, and he was startled at the intense expression of his daughter's face.

"My dear girl! what has happened to you?" he tenderly asked, as he took her hands and drew her to his side. "Try and tell me." He stroked her ruffled hair, and spoke in soothing tones, but it was several minutes before she could utter a word.

"Dexie, my dear, calm yourself, and tell me what is the matter; you will make yourself ill. What is it all about, my dear?"

Dexie pointed to the crumpled handbill that she had tossed under the table as she threw off her wraps, and her father stooped and picked it up, then smoothing it across his knee read the cause of offence.

"Why, you foolish girl! surely it is not this that has put you into such a passion?"

"I won't have it! How dared they! The 'American Warbler,' indeed! Do they think I will overlook such insolence and go to their old concert after that public insult! No, I won't put up with it, so there!" and a flood of tears brought relief to the overcharged heart.

"Dexie, they never intended to hurt your feelings; it is only a mistake on your part to think so for a moment. Why, it is quite a joke, one that the audience will not be slow in appreciating, I'll warrant. Come, dry your eyes, and never mind this announcement."

But Dexie flung herself on the bed, sobbing through her tears: "Oh, papa, what made you make me say I would whistle when I did not want to from the first. I did not think they would treat me so meanly, or I never would have consented. But I won't go near the old hall to-night; no, not a step!"

Her father sat down on the bed beside her, and pushed away the hair from her hot face, saying: "You are quite mistaken, dear, in thinking they meant anything but praise in announcing your part of the programme. If you will just think a moment, you will see it yourself."

"Praise, indeed! They have insulted me in a most public manner. How dared they take such liberties with my name, when it was only as a special favor I consented to whistle at all! Oh, it was such a mean, shabby trick!" and the tears fell in showers.

"Come, Dexie, I can't let you cry like this," and he lifted her gently and placed her beside him. "You will surely be sick if you do not control yourself, my dear. It was too bad to vex you when there is so much depending on you; but it was done unintentionally, I know, and they will soon apologize when they know that the announcement has annoyed you."

"But what will be the good of that? An apology will not recall those handbills, which, I daresay, are all over the city. But I'll make them repent it; they'll find that even a worm will turn if trampled on."

"Tut, tut, what nonsense! You are not a worm nor the kind of bird that eats the worm either—but here's Aunt Jennie. Auntie, can't you help me put a grain of sense into this silly girl's pate? She imagines she has been insulted by this bit of flattery, hence these tears," and he held out the handbill for inspection.

"Why, Dexie, this will never do. You will spoil your eyes for to-night, dear. Nothing so very dreadful has happened, after all. I was quite alarmed at Gussie's account, and feared something serious had occurred. Don't be so foolish as to mind this bit of paper."

But Dexie buried her face in her father's shoulder and cried the more.

"Oh, it is too bad of you, auntie. I thought you would care if I was abused, but nobody does, not even papa; but I'll make somebody sorry, for I won't go near their old concert," and she jerked away from her father's arms, and threw herself back on the bed.

Aunt Jennie motioned for Mr. Sherwood and Gussie to leave the room, thinking she might manage Dexie better alone, for this hysterical crying needed to be checked at once. She sat down beside her and stroked the hot face until Dexie's sobs had somewhat ceased. Her gentle voice did much to soothe the tempest in Dexie's breast, but she seemed to have lost her persuasive power for the time.

Mr. Sherwood went at once to his wife's room to explain the cause of the disturbance.

"How inconsiderate of Dexie to cause so much annoyance!" was her fretful comment. "I am quite sure I shall have the headache, for the way she slammed that door was enough to upset the strongest nerves. I thought of going to the concert myself if I finished my book in time, but it seems my fate to be robbed of all pleasure. Why don't you use your authority, Clarence, and make her behave herself?"

"You must make some allowance for her, wife, for she feels much hurt over that announcement. But the trouble is, what's to be done if she persists in her determination not to appear? I might insist on her going to the hall, but I doubt if I could make her whistle after she got there."

"Well, if you do not use your authority you need not ask me to interfere. She has quite upset me as it is."

"It is not very often that she gets worked up like this. I believe she controls her temper about as well as any of us. She seldom lets her tongue loose as she used to do when things went wrong, but flies to her room and fights it out alone. I expect those Gurneys have a good influence over our wilful Dexie."

"Well, I suppose she does not see those mild, quiet girls fly into a passion very often, and this tiresome concert is to blame for this disturbance. I fear if she has made up her mind not to go, you may as well leave her alone; so let the matter rest, it disturbs me," and Mrs. Sherwood closed her eyes as if the subject had passed completely from her mind.

But Mr. Sherwood could not let the matter rest so easily, and his wife's indifference annoyed him exceedingly.

"Confound their stupidity!" he exclaimed at last, beginning to see it with Dexie's eyes. "They might have known that she would object to such an announcement, but it will be an awkward thing if she does not appear after all. I hope Aunt Jennie will bring her to reason."

"I hope so too, I'm sure," answered the wife with a sigh; "but Lancy Gurney is as much interested in the matter as herself, and I believe he would make her change her mind if anyone could."

"Well, I think I will run in and see if he is at home, but I'm afraid it will make a bad matter worse."

A few minutes later Mr. Sherwood was standing in the parlor next door, shaking hands with Mrs. Gurney.

"We don't seem to meet very often, do we, though we are such near neighbors," she said, with a smile, when the usual greetings had been exchanged, "but you look worried. Are all well at home this morning?"

"We are all well disturbed, certainly," he answered, with a short laugh. "I have just come in to see if I could get someone to help me about Dexie."

"Why? what has happened her? She is not hurt, I hope!"

"Well, her feelings are, tremendously, I can tell you;" and pulling out the objectionable handbill from his pocket, added, "she came upon this down in some store, and has come home as mad as a hatter, declaring she has been insulted, and she vows she won't whistle or go near the concert at all to-night."

"Well, that would be rather serious, wouldn't it?" was the mild reply. "Poor girlie, so she don't like to be called the 'American warbler.' It is the publicity of it, I expect, that has hurt her. Where is she now?"

"Up in her room, crying her eyes out. The more we try to reason with her, the worse she is; even Aunt Jennie has failed to quiet her."

"Now if you will let me advise—you know I have more experience with rebellious children than most women," and she smiled up into the anxious face above her, "let her have her cry out, and say no more to her about it just now, and, if you care to turn her over to us, I think I can promise you she will be all right by and by."

"Do you mean that you are willing to take her off our hands for the day?" and he looked eagerly into her face.

"Yes, if we may. I will send one of the children in to ask her to dinner, and we will not let her suspect that we know anything about it until she speaks of the matter herself. We will find something pleasant to take up her attention until Lancy comes home, and by that time she will have had time to think of the matter in a different light."

"But do you think she will consent to whistle after all, Mrs. Gurney? That is the main thing."

"Certainly; I have no fear. If the matter is put before her in a serious light, she will be sure to do what is honorable. Of course, I quite understand that until her temper cools off she will be immovable; those determined natures always are. I have brought up one hot-headed person, and I think I know the weak spot; and Hugh McNeil was never quite unmanageable. Do not fret about Dexie, I feel sure she will fulfil her part to-night, and do us all credit."

"Thanks, Mrs. Gurney. You cannot think what a relief it is to hear you speak so confidently about it. I should feel very much aggrieved if she persisted in her refusal, for I urged her to whistle, much against her will, and I feel responsible for her appearance. I think, myself, that it was not just the fair thing to send those handbills broadcast without making her acquainted with the contents beforehand."

"Yes, they might have consulted her; but, of course, it never occurred to them that she would feel offended, and really I wonder that she is myself. Still, I can quite understand it when I consider how uncertain she must feel about her reception as a whistler."

"Yes, that is the trouble, but she went out on purpose to buy some little things to wear to-night, and I would like to know if she has everything ready. But I daresay it will not be wise to refer to the matter while she is of the same mind. Yet I want her to look as well as the rest of them," said Mr. Sherwood, in an anxious tone.

"To be sure. Well, her dress must be prepared for her. It would be a great disappointment to Lancy if anything should happen to prevent her going; so we must unite our efforts and carry the day, in spite of this little freak of Dexie's. Now, I expect my girls know what Dexie's plans were for to-night; and as my dressmaker is here finishing Cora's dress, I will have her attend to Dexie's also; so let Gussie bring in what materials she purchased while out this morning, and we will hold a consultation on the matter. Now, do not be alarmed, Mr. Sherwood," she added, seeing his look of concern. "I will promise to send her to the concert in good trim, and in good temper too," and she smiled pleasantly as she bade him "Good morning," as if it were an everyday affair to bring refractory girls to terms.



CHAPTER XV.

Mr. Sherwood returned home feeling much relieved, and meeting Aunt Jennie on the stairs, asked after Dexie's present condition.

"She is crying still, though not so violently. I fear she has fully determined not to take part in the concert to-night. I have done my best, but I cannot shake her determination, so I have left her to herself to think it over."

"That's right. I have just been in to Mrs. Gurney's, and she has offered to settle the difficulty and be responsible for her appearance to-night."

"That is good news, indeed. I have perfect trust in Mrs. Gurney's ability to succeed where the rest of us all fail; but the next trouble is, I haven't the least idea what Dexie intended to do with the yards of lace she brought home this morning, unless she intends to drape it over her dress in some way."

"Mrs. Gurney has promised to relieve us of that trouble also. She is quite as anxious as we are that Dexie shall make a good appearance, and if you will collect the fixings and take them in, Mrs. Gurney says her dressmaker will do what is necessary."

"Then the trouble may be considered over," said she, with a relieved sigh.

"I will run into Mrs. Gurney's myself, and see what I can do for the general good. How nice it is to have real friends so near!" she added, as she followed Mr. Sherwood into the sitting-room.

In about half an hour, Elsie Gurney came running into the house, and as she came through the hall called, "Dexie, Dexie, where are you?"

Aunt Jennie opened the door, saying: "She is up in her room, Elsie; run right up."

Dexie heard the call, and, hastily rising, poured some cold water into the basin, and began to bathe her face. Her head was bent over the basin when Elsie entered the room.

"Oh, here you are! What on earth are you poking up here for at this time of day?" was the matter-of-fact greeting. "You are to hurry up and come into our house and stay to dinner. Mother said you are allowed, so you needn't stop to ask permission; and, just think, the box that grandma sent from England has arrived, and it is full of all kinds of finery. You know we always have a box sent us at Christmas time, but this one was delayed somehow," and she looked curiously at the flushed face that was buried in the brimming hands. "There is always something for everyone of us in the box; but do hurry, Dexie, your face isn't so dirty that it needs soaking, I hope."

"Well, hardly," was the reply, thankful enough to be given so much time to recover her composure; "but I may as well tell you before you find it out yourself that I have had a bad attack of the pouts, and the effect is not so easy to get rid of. Now, you needn't ask what's up, for I don't intend to tell you."

"Pshaw! who cares about your pouts? Not I, anyway," was the reply, in a high and mighty tone. "Come along, if you're coming, and if you're not, then stay home. I can't wait, for I want to see what is in the box for me."

This unceremonious manner of treatment made Dexie come down somewhat from the pedestal of injured greatness, and she forced herself to talk to Elsie to keep her waiting, while she made a fresh toilet.

"Now, do I look a fright?" Dexie asked, as she prepared to follow Elsie downstairs.

"Well, I can't say that you look much worse than usual, but you certainly don't look any better. Your nose looks swelled. Shouldn't wonder if you had it tweaked; but, then, what odds how it looks? Hurry up, and come along. We have apple dumplings for dinner to-day. Do you like milk or sauce on them best?"

Dexie did not answer; something of more consequence than dumplings was troubling her just then, and as she followed Elsie into the front hall, she was tenderly feeling her nose and mentally comparing it with its usual proportions, inwardly calling herself all sorts of hard names for being so silly.

"But I won't whistle to-night, so there!" she kept saying to herself, as if she needed to keep her determination constantly before herself in order to back it up.

Elsie rushed up the stairs at once, eager to enjoy the delights that an English box always contained; but for once Dexie's interest was centred in herself. Her nose could not be forgotten; in fact, she was trying to reduce its proportions by pressing it between her thumb and finger. She wondered if the rest of the family would notice it and make remarks thereon. Lancy would be sure to know at once that something was wrong; but she would keep out of sight, for she would not whistle; no, indeed.

"Oh, Dexie, how you do poke along!" Elsie remarked from the top of the stairs. "I declare, you are enough to try the patience of a Job. Come along, or I'll rush into the room first, manners or no manners; then mother will be displeased."

Dexie was up the few remaining steps before Elsie had finished speaking. She was just as anxious to see the English presents as if half of them were meant for herself. Her swelled nose was instantly forgotten, and she passed through the door that Elsie held open for her, and was soon bending over the treasures with the rest. The room was soon in confusion, as dress patterns, laces, ribbons, gloves and fans, and trinkets in endless variety were strewn over bed, table and chairs. The swelled nose could not hide the beautiful things laid out for her admiring eyes, and she watched with smiling face as Elsie adorned herself with finery without regard to number or suitability.

"Oh, what a fine Indian brave am I!" sang Elsie as she danced before the mirror, her arms adorned with three sets of bracelets, and her neck encircled with ribbons and lace, while several lockets and charms attached to velvet bands added to her glory. "Now, with a few of those ostrich tips in my hair, I shall be ready to start for the Governor's ball," she added, dancing around the room, sending the ribbons and laces gaily fluttering behind her.

"You'll bawl at home, my lady, if you spoil anything with your capers," said Cora. "Take off those things at once, Elsie; some of them are mine, I know. Oh! here is a note, mother. The coral set belongs to Elsie, and is presented by her godmother, and this bangled set is mine. Do you think they would be too showy to wear to-night, mother?"

"Oh! what is this beautiful thing?" Dexie exclaimed, as she lifted a handsome lace bertha. "My! isn't it lovely? How do I look in borrowed feathers—or laces, to be more exact?"

"Oh, fine!" Elsie replied. "I wonder who it was sent to—not me, I hope; it would make me look like a fright, while it makes you look like a fairy," and Elsie turned to examine another parcel.

But Cora had decided in her own mind who it was that should be the first to wear the pretty lace affair, for as she looked at Dexie with the fluffy thing around her neck and throat, she seemed to suggest the very character she was to fill in the evening, and, as she removed it and laid it gently aside, Cora whispered to her mother:

"It will suit her nicely, don't you think? What else would do to go with it?"

"Those ribbons and gloves match it perfectly; they were meant to go together, I expect, for an evening costume. Just see what she takes a fancy to, and lay it aside; then use your own judgment."

A little scream of delight from Elsie betokened another pleasant discovery.

"Gloves! boxes of gloves, and handkerchiefs by the set, and all hemmed, too! Oh! and marked; see, these are my initials. Blessings on the thoughtful person who sent me those, for my handkerchiefs disappear as mysteriously as ghosts. Now, if I only unearth a box of shoe-laces, I'll think my cup of joy quite full."

"Shoe-laces! and they so cheap!" Dexie exclaimed in surprise.

"But I have to buy mine with my pocket-money. I break so many of the tiresome things, that mother thinks it will make me more careful if I have to replace them myself. But they are always in knots, and when I have to keep them neat and tidy at my own expense it leaves me little enough for chocolate creams. Dear me! I think they might have sent me a few dozen, so that I might get a chance to have one good 'tuck in' for once, as the street arabs say."

"Why, Elsie, I am surprised at you," was the mother's mild rebuke. "Surely you can feel grateful, without requiring shoe-laces to 'fill up your cup with joy,'" and there was a faint smile around the mouth that reproved in such quiet tones.

"Ah! I know what ails me, mother dear. 'From all selfishness, envy, uncharitableness,—and all the rest of it, good Lord, deliver me.' I'll say it next Sunday with a different meaning to it, particularly if I get the shoe-laces."

"Why, Elsie Gurney! how dare you speak those words so flippantly!" said Cora severely, looking at her sister in surprise and displeasure.

"I wasn't thinking flippantly, if I did speak so. I wasn't, truly, mamma," said Elsie, in a contrite tone. "I never thought I was selfish and—and all the other things when I said it over in church, but I do believe I am—some—anyway. After this I will say 'deliver me' instead of 'us.'"

"Hasty speeches often lead to thoughtful acts. I will be very glad if the missing shoe-laces make my daughter a little more thoughtful about things of greater moment. Do not look so shocked, Cora; it did not sound well, I know, but she did not mean it irreverently, I'm sure. I remember when I was a child at home we all had to learn the fifty-first Psalm as a Lenten lesson, and once my little brother came through the rooms, singing it to the most rollicking tune that was ever danced by; but the very contrast between words and tune made the words sink into my heart as nothing else could have done, for I did not learn very readily. Of course, dear, I do not approve of it; but children are children, and the longer they remain so the better, I think," and with a little sigh Mrs. Gurney left the room, laying her hand lovingly on Elsie's head as she passed her.

More than an hour passed before the contents of the box had been examined, then with Dexie's assistance the wrappings which covered the floor were picked up, tables were tidied, and the room put in order.

Mrs. Gurney drew Lancy aside as soon as he entered the house, to explain the difficulty about Dexie.

"What! Not whistle or go near us!" he cried. "Why, she'll have to! Everybody is talking about the concert, and inquiring about our 'warbler.' Those handbills were the greatest success. Not whistle, indeed, when the crowd will be there on purpose to hear her. Why, mother, she is the chief attraction! Where is she? I'll show her very soon that she can't back out. They would mob us if she failed to appear. Why, I couldn't go either if she did not."

"Softly, softly, my son," laying her hand on his arm. "Wait a moment till I explain further. Dexie is not one to be forced into doing a thing she does not like, and if you talk to her in that strain you will only strengthen her determination to stay at home. She must be treated differently if we would gain her full consent, and nothing short of that will do. I have watched her face, and I know that unless quiet measures are used she will resist to the last. My boy, I am quite as anxious as you are about it, so do not look so wild. Listen to my plan."

Lancy's excitement cooled down as he listened to his mother's advice, and he promised to do his part if sufficient self-control were granted him.



CHAPTER XVI.

When they met around the dinner-table Lancy was strangely silent, though his eyes shone with suppressed feeling, and Dexie began to hope that the subject of the concert would not be broached; but her hopes were rudely shattered as Mr. Gurney turned his smiling face and said:

"So you have honored us with your company to-day, Miss Dexie. Are you aware, wife, that our young neighbor has found a place in the hearts of the public, though her identity is hidden as yet under the sweet sounding title of 'American Warbler?' Every one is asking, 'Who is it?'"

Some commonplace remark from Mrs. Gurney, followed by a warning look, caused the subject to be suddenly changed, and in the conversation that followed, the angry flush faded from Dexie's cheeks, the firm shut mouth relaxed; but the workings of her mind were not quite hidden from the motherly eyes that watched her so closely.

Dexie was fully determined not to go to the concert, yet she would not have cared to confess it to those around her, knowing how shocked they would be at such a resolution. Somehow the matter looked different while she was among them as one of the family. She was sure that the high sense of honor that prevailed among the Gurneys would be sufficient to make any of them fulfil a promise once made, even at a great sacrifice to themselves.

But she would not. No! not if they despised her for it! She would not put up with that impudent advertisement, and she laid down her knife and fork quite suddenly, and clasped her hands in her lap in that close grasp that always told when her feelings were stirred.

Mrs. Gurney watched the expressive face, and returned Lancy's look with one of sympathy.

"Lancy is going to drive to the Four-Mile House this afternoon, Dexie," said Mrs. Gurney. "Would you like to go with him?"

"Oh, yes, indeed," was the quick reply, delighted to escape further questioning.

"Then he will have the sleigh ready as soon as you are. Be sure and wrap up your mouth and throat. It never do to catch cold, you know."

Dexie lifted her eyes for one brief moment to the smiling face of the little mother. The reference to her throat brought back the troublesome resolution that would not stay resolved, try as she would. She longed to throw herself at her feet and confess the whole hateful story, but she dared not. That resolution would fall to pieces like a house of cards, if once the story were told to Mrs. Gurney. But she hated herself for the deceit she was practising. How would it end?

As Lancy drove round to the front door Cora ran out and whispered:

"Don't speak hastily to her, Lancy. Remember how much depends on the way you put it. But be sure and get her full consent."

"What time am I to bring her home?"

"As early as possible; if she has not consented by four o'clock, bring her home to mother. You know we have to dress and have tea."

"And what about Dexie's fine feathers?"

"Only get her consent to go, and we will make a perfect fairy of her. Grandma's box just came in time."

Just then Dexie appeared, and was quickly tucked under the robes.

"Wish us good luck, or fling a slipper, do, Cora, for we are going to elope!" Dexie laughingly exclaimed.

"Good luck, then, and with all my heart I wish it; but slippers are costly, and mine are new," was the laughing reply.

"What happy fortune takes you out of town this afternoon, Lancy?" said Dexie, a few minutes later. "Make it forty miles, instead of four, if you wish to earn my everlasting gratitude."

"Any other day, Dexie, I would feel like taking you at your word," and a look full of meaning flashed from his eyes, which she understood.

By and by they passed a fence that was covered with posters, and in the most conspicuous place Dexie saw the obnoxious handbills with their great, staring letters.

"Did you see that?" and Dexie flushed angrily, as she pointed at the announcement.

"Why, yes! and everybody is coming to the hall to hear you to-night."

"Are they, indeed!" drawing her head back stiffly. "Then they might save themselves the trouble, for they won't hear me."

"Dexie, you are not in earnest!" and Lancy tried to repress the hot words that rose to his lips. "You surely would not refuse to whistle after giving your word, and the posters all over the city?"

"Why was I not consulted about the announcement, if I am of so much importance? Who was it that dared to use my name in such a manner? If you know, you can go and tell them that I resent the insult, and will not appear before an audience under such a nickname!"

"Some people would think the title very complimentary, Dexie."

"Those who do can earn the title and enjoy the compliment, then, for it won't be me," was the firm and angry reply.

"Dexie, I can't think you mean all your words imply. If you knew how highly Mr. Ross speaks of your whistling, you would know that he would be the last one to offend you. Indeed, he is so assured that your performance will be the chief part of the concert that he gave it the special mention that has offended you, and he has gone to the expense of fitting up the hall away beyond anything ever seen in Halifax. He is so lifted up you would think he was walking on air."

"He will find solid ground under his feet about eight o'clock this evening, I fancy! for he will find that his 'warbler' has flown to parts unknown."

"Is it possible, Dexie, that you have it in your heart to so disappoint the members of the club, and the public as well? As for the name he has given you, what matters it? I have been called 'The Dandy' for years, but I have as much respect from my friends as if the term were complimentary. Dexie, I can't think you intend to go back on your word."

"Dexie felt the reproach, but would not relent.

"Mr. Ross had no right to announce my part of the performance at all; it was only as a favor I consented to whistle. If I am his 'drawing-card,' it was only fair to consult me about publishing the fact. I feel positive that, after such an announcement, I will be hissed off the stage before I utter a dozen notes. Who ever heard of a girl whistling in public before? It is considered vulgar enough if she is caught at it in private! I cannot face them, Lancy; I truly cannot."

"If it is your reception you are afraid of, Dexie, then set your mind at rest. Even the rougher element would as soon think of hissing a canary."

"But you forget, Lancy, that to be the first to appear in a part so unusual is of itself a risky thing. Had it not been announced I would not mind it so much, as it would be unexpected by the audience, and the very audacity of it would have won to my side the rougher element. As it is, the audience will expect something beyond my power to give them."

"Looking at it in that way, I admit that the announcement was a mistake, Dexie, since it has made you apprehensive of your power to charm; but no one else doubts it, dear, and I feel sure that my Dexie will not put her friends in the embarrassing position that would arise if she purposely stayed away from the concert to-night. I grant that the announcement was a mistake, as you look at it, and that it was very thoughtless of those who got it up to send it to press without submitting it to your inspection; but having done so, and sold hundreds of tickets on the strength of the announcement, common honesty should make you fulfil your part. If your absence only affected the members of the club, it would not matter so much, but hundreds of outsiders would blame the club for obtaining money under false pretences; so you see, Dexie, you really cannot stay home. Do be reasonable, darling."

A deep blush tinged Dexie's cheeks, brought there by something else than the frosty air, and for a few minutes there was silence between them.

Meanwhile, Mr. Sherwood had started out for a walk in order to quiet the anxiety that filled his mind, and meeting Mr. Ross down by the Grand Parade he astonished the man by telling him of Dexie's determination.

"But, Mr. Sherwood, she must come," he cried aghast. "Her performance has been announced and is the talk of the city."

"Can't help it, Mr. Ross. I am extremely sorry, but it was that very announcement that has caused the trouble. She says you have insulted her, and she has cried and scolded ever since she set eyes on it."

"Yet I expected the reverse. What's to be done?"

The question was as helpless as the man's face was hopeless.

"Well, I can't say. I can use my authority and insist on her going to the hall, but you know the old saying, 'You can drive a horse to water, but you can't make him drink.' It was only this morning that she came across a handbill, and she flew home in such a temper that it put the whole house in an uproar. I can truly say it has quite upset me, for I was anxious to have her do her best to-night."

"But if I go and apologize, and assure her of my unwillingness to cause her a moment's annoyance, surely I might make amends for my unintentional mistake. I will do anything, everything, Mr. Sherwood, that you can suggest."

"Believe me, Mr. Ross, everything possible has been already done to make her see that you had no intention of 'insulting' her, and we have had to pass her over to our next-door neighbors. If they fail, you can try your persuasive powers. She is out driving with young Gurney just now, and we are simply living on our hopes."

"I trust he will succeed. I would hardly dare to face the people to-night without her. Come and see how well the hall looks while we await her return; then I must see her and explain."

"Better not, Mr. Ross, unless you have some other excuse for calling. If young Gurney gets her to change her mind, you had better make your peace with her after the concert is over, instead of risking it beforehand."

"Very true; but I might call with a bouquet for both of your daughters, and I need not refer to the matter if her consent has been already secured."

"Such an errand would seem natural and should do much towards earning forgiveness," was the smiling reply.

A revolution was going on in Dexie's mind as the sleigh flew over the level road, and Lancy watched the varying expressions, for he had learned to read her face like an open book. Checking the speed of his horse, he turned to her and asked if she felt the least cold.

"Not at all, Lancy; the air is just frosty enough to make it enjoyable."

"The roads are somewhat better than they were last winter when I took you out in the storm. Will you ever forget it, Dexie?"

"I am never allowed to, it seems; but I wish I could drop that twenty-four hours out of my memory,"—annoyed that Lancy referred to the time that was associated with his declaration of love. "I wish you would forget that unfortunate drive and all connected with it. It is no pleasure to remember how near we came to freezing to death," she added.

"Well, Dexie, if you will only look at that side of it, why not repay me for the trouble I took for you that night, and do me a favor in return?"

"If any favor I can do will forever relieve me of any obligation I may be under, you have only to name it," said she coolly, "providing the favor is within reason, though."

"No, I'll not ask it, nor put it that way; not for all the concerts that will ever be held!" he hotly answered. "But, Dexie," and his voice grew tender again, "if the same motive would move you to grant me this favor that impelled me to save you that night, you would make me very happy."

"And this favor, Lancy?"

"Remove the anxiety you have caused us all, and overlook what has vexed you, and come with me to the concert. You know I can't go without you, and our absence will spoil it. My wilful Dexie, don't you think you were rather hasty in your judgment this morning?"

"My judgment don't amount to much when once my temper is up, as you know very well, Lancy; but I'll acknowledge that I do feel rather ashamed of myself, for making such a fuss, though I still think it was a shabby trick to advertise me that way."

"So it was, Dexie; but will you make one shabby trick the excuse for a second? You will take back your refusal, my Dexie?"

"Well, Lancy, perhaps I would, if it were not too late; but it is too late to repent now, for my dress isn't ready, and there are endless other matters to see to that would have kept me busy the whole day, so my repentance will do no good. In fact I haven't the faintest idea what I did with the purchases I made this morning, unless I flung them into the street as I rushed along. What a fright I must have looked! But I don't believe I met a soul that knew me; that's one comfort, anyway."

"Then you would whistle to-night if only your dress were ready?"

"Well, I hate awfully to say it, Lancy, but I do believe I would, for I did not think that my absence would spoil your part of the performance when I spoke so decidedly."

"Then we will consider the matter settled, for your dress will be ready when it is time to put it on," and a look of relief spread over his face. "Mother said she would see about it if you would only go."

"Oh, dear! Does your mother know how silly I have been? Who could have told her?"

"Never mind, Dexie. She knows you won't come back as naughty as you went out. She felt sure of that."

"Lancelot Gurney! Did you take me out on purpose—on purpose to make me change my mind? Well, well! how eagerly I ran into the trap that was set to catch me," and a smothered laugh rang out on the frosty air.

"All's well that ends well, you know. Your father was in despair when your Aunt Jennie could not manage you, so he turned you over to us. Since I have proved myself so capable, that ought to speak well for me in the future, eh, Dexie?" and he smiled mischievously into her eyes. "But I'm not quite sure of you yet, Dexie. Give me your word that you will whistle to-night—honor bright, mind."

"Yes, honor bright, Lancy. I'll whistle, or try to, if they don't hiss me when I begin. Now, turn back, and let us get home as quickly as possible; there will be a lot of humble pie waiting for me. I may as well eat it and have it done with. I feel worse to meet your mother than all the rest."

"You forget that I have an errand at the Four-Mile House. That will give us a chance to get warmed, and then for a wild drive home."

When they arrived at the hotel they were glad to find the parlor vacant, for they could monopolize the fire that burned so brightly in the grate, besides enjoying the liberty of free speech.

"You may as well lay aside your wraps, Dexie, as we will not start for home for half an hour," said Lancy, as he returned from an interview with the landlord.

When the sleigh was again brought to the door, there was a triumphant look in Lancy's face that contrasted well with the rosy cheeks of his companion.

"We will have the wind in our faces going home, Dexie, so be sure and wrap up your mouth and throat. It will never do to spoil your whistle after all. I tell you what, Dexie," he added, as he helped her adjust the fleecy scarf, "I feel myself quite a diplomatist, and I shall claim remuneration for this afternoon's work. Do you know what will square the bill?"

"Possibly I may guess your terms, sir, but I shall claim the usual three months' credit," and a saucy face was lifted to his.

"Not three hours shall I wait," he laughingly replied, as he followed the figure that passed so swiftly from his arms. "I have a good notion to claim 'cash on delivery,'" helping her into the sleigh.

"I fancy you would not find it easy to enforce your claim, sir."

"Don't be too sure of that, my Dexie. I have had too hard an afternoon's work to do it for nothing, and 'kiss number two' would settle the account."

There was no chance for further conversation, for Lancy needed to give his attention to the spirited animal before him. It was generally a "wild drive" when Bob wore the harness, unless he were kept well in check, and to those who hastily took the side of the road as the sleigh flew by, it did indeed look like a "wild drive," for the pace never slacked until the house was reached.

There were many anxious eyes on the lookout for their arrival, as Dexie noted with shame, but she determined to face the matter boldly, and if possible make some amends for the trouble and anxiety she had caused.

The front door of both houses opened simultaneously as the sleigh drove up, Mr. Sherwood appearing at one and Cora at the other, and a hundred questions could not have asked more than the one word which fell from the lips of both—

"Well?"

Dexie sprang out on the sidewalk, and with a wave of her hand in Lancy's direction, answered the question in dramatic tones:

"See! the conquering hero comes!"

That was enough; they all understood her, and Elsie, who was standing on the doorstep, flew into the house where the busy needles were flying, shouting as she ran:

"Yes! she is going! Lancy has managed her! She is all right again!"

"There, save that little comedy till by and by, and come in here," said Mr. Sherwood, smiling, in spite of himself at the way Dexie had announced her surrender.

"Come into our house as soon as you can, Dexie," Cora called after her retreating figure. "We want you for something."

What a feeling of relief her arrival caused! They had scarcely realized how great was the tension until their anxiety was removed. But all seemed to breathe more freely, and the preparations for the concert went briskly on.

Dexie threw off her wraps in the hall, and followed her father into the sitting-room, where Aunt Jennie sat waiting.

"You are back, my dear," was the aunt's quiet greeting.

"Yes, auntie, and ready to eat all the humble pie you have prepared for me."

"I have prepared none, my dear, but I am pleased to see that you are ready and willing to eat some. Your father has passed a miserable time waiting for your appearance."

"Poor papa!" and Dexie threw her arms around his neck. "How horrid I have been, to be sure. Now, lay on the stripes easy, and I'll promise not to do so any more," and she playfully held out her hand.

"You had better not, you little tyrant," drawing her to him. "I believe my hair has turned grey with the anxiety you have caused me."

"Oh, so it has! here is one hair quite grey; yes, actually two of them! I'll show you," and a couple of hairs were withdrawn with a jerk.

"Stop! you torment," catching her by both arms. "Isn't it enough that my hair has turned grey? Must you make me bald as well? I thought Lancy was going to sober you down before he brought you back. I'll have to call him in to finish his job."

"No, I'm going to be good, I really am; so say you are not cross with me any more, then I must run off and see about my dress."

"Well, I'll forgive you this time; but if you cut up any more such capers, I'll hand you over to young Gurney for good."

"But I won't be handed over, you dear old papa," giving him a squeeze that almost choked him. "I will not exchange my papa for the best-looking young gentleman you can find in the city. But, papa! do persuade Gussie to leave my shortcomings alone, for the next few hours at least," she added, in a low tone.

"I will see that she does not annoy you. Now, don't you think you had better go and practise awhile?"

"Couldn't think of it, papa mine!" Then, taking her father's face between her two hands, she looked earnestly into his eyes, saying: "Do you think there is the least danger of me breaking down to-night? Do you? Confess the truth, sir!" she laughingly demanded.

"Well, no; I don't think there is."

"Neither do I. Trust your naughty tomboy; she is going to 'eclipse all her former efforts and cover herself with glory.' But, wait you till I see Mr. Ross," and she shook her head. "I will forgive him for this night only, and then—well, never mind! How is mamma? Is she very angry with me?" she added, presently.

"Not so much as might be expected. You must let her see you when you are dressed."

"Oh! Aunt Jennie, did you see anything of a stray parcel, with some lace and other things inside of it? or have I really tossed it into the street?"

"It is in at Mrs. Gurney's with the rest of your apparel for to-night. I have just finished Gussie's suit, and she is all ready to dress. Gloves and all are waiting upstairs."

"Oh, dear! what shall I do, auntie? I completely forgot the gloves. That abominable handbill turned my brain, I do believe; and I thought I was learning to control my temper! Oh, dear!"

"Don't fret, my dear! The best of us are put out sometimes. But everything has been prepared for you in at Mrs. Gurney's; for Lancy's success rests on your appearance, and they were all anxious on his account as well as your own."

"Well, I suppose I must go in next door and apologize; but I would rather get a switching than see Mrs. Gurney."

Dexie's appearance was heralded by a number of little voices, as she made her way to the sewing-room with heightened color and eyes bright with unshed tears.

"I beg pardon of each one of you, separately and collectively," Dexie began. "I never dreamed that my fit of temper was going to affect both households. You are more than kind, and I have no words to thank you."

"Well, don't do it, then," said Elsie; "save your breath, and run upstairs and see your dress, instead. Come, let me show you the finery."

"Where is your mother? I must see her a moment. How does my nose look now, Elsie?" she added, as they went through the hall.

"It looks as if it ought to be tweaked again, you bad girl! But oh, Dexie! your dress is lovely."

And so thought Dexie herself as she stood by the bed whereon it lay, and she bitterly reproached herself for the anxiety her waywardness had caused.

Tears were in her eyes as Mrs. Gurney came quietly into the room.

"Dear Mrs. Gurney—" She could say no more, but the eloquent eyes told the story quite as well as if it had been spoken by the quivering lips.

"There, my dear! There! never mind. It was only a mistake, and we all make mistakes sometimes; so don't fret any more. See how nicely we have managed. Do you like it, my dear?"

"So very much that I feel I shall never be able to repay you for the trouble"—her eyes still full of tears.

"Oh, yes, you will, I expect payment this very night," and the firm, cool hand was laid lovingly across Dexie's shoulder. "When I hear that you have overlooked the cause of the trouble, and have sung and whistled your very best, and to Lancy's satisfaction—when I have heard this, I will consider the debt well paid," and she bent over and kissed the wet cheeks. "You had better try on the gloves, dear; then see if we have forgotten any one thing."

The face was soon wreathed in smiles. The many things made ready for her use by her dear friends made her realize how much they cared for her, and her girlish heart beat fast as she thought of the triumph she was determined to win, if only to please them.

"We are going to have an early tea, and then we will begin to dress," said Cora, making her appearance in the room. "You must put yourself into my hands to-night, Dexie, so be passive and obedient. We have all set our hearts on your success, Dexie, dear."

"And I will not disappoint you, I promise. I would be a monster of iniquity if I did not do my best, after making so much extra trouble for everybody to-day."

"Ask Gussie to come in with you for tea, Dexie," said Mrs. Gurney, "and if she will bring in her dress, one can help the other get ready."

"Oh, that will be splendid! But I don't want any tea; we had a nice lunch at the Four-Mile House, and I won't eat anything more till after the concert. So you can leave my share till then," she said with a smile. "What new whim possesses you now, Dexie?" asked Elsie.

"It is not a whim. I am going to put forth my best efforts to-night, and I can whistle better if I do not eat."

"What nonsense! did you ever try it?"

"Not purposely, but I know I can."

"That is right, Dexie; use every means to enable you to appear at your best."



CHAPTER XVII.

Mr. Ross had lingered near the house ever since he had parted from Mr. Sherwood, so anxious was he to hear the decision of his erratic "warbler," and he was much relieved when he saw the sleigh drive up to the door at a much earlier hour than he had dared to hope.

Feeling quite sure that she had reversed her hasty decision, he turned his steps to the nearest conservatory, from which he emerged later on bearing a box which contained what he hoped would prove his "peace-offering."

He was received by Mr. Sherwood, who had observed his approach from the window, and his smiling face told the story before there was time to exchange words thereon.

"Can I see her?" asked Mr. Ross, as he heard of Lancy's success.

"Well, I'm afraid not; she is engaged, I believe. I suppose you wish to hear her rehearse?"

"Yes."

"Well, I'm afraid you will have to be content with the promise that she gave to me, that 'she would do her best.' Depend on it, she will not disappoint any of us to-night. I'll answer for that."

"But I should like so much to see her. I would like to apologize for my unintentional mistake. Will you take this bouquet to her with my compliments, and ask if I may see her for a few moments?"

"She is in Mrs. Gurney's at present," said Mr. Sherwood, "but if you will wait here I will step in and see her; but I do not think it will be wise to insist on an interview. My daughter has a temper of her own, and that announcement has provoked her in a way I never saw equalled, so unless she seems perfectly willing to see you, she should be let alone, until after the concert any way."

Mr. Sherwood was soon in the next hall inquiring for his daughter, and she came down the stairs behind Mrs. Gurney, who also stopped to speak to her next-door neighbor.

"Dexie," said Mr. Sherwood, "Mr. Ross sends his compliments with this bouquet, and wishes to know if you will see him and allow him to explain, or apologize, whichever you choose to call it," and he handed her the fragrant flowers.

Instantly they were flung to the end of the hall, and an angry flush rose in her cheeks as she exclaimed, hotly:

"Tell Mr. Ross that I—"

"Dexie, my dear, your promise," came the quiet words from Mrs. Gurney.

"Oh! do forgive me, this once more, Mrs. Gurney," and Dexie rushed after the ill-used flowers; then, in a changed voice, gave the message:

"Tell Mr. Ross that I appreciate his compliments—oh! highly," and she made a grimace, "also his flowers. They smell nice—what is left of them; but I—oh, papa!—I can't see him. Must I go and hear him talk when the very thought of him makes me angry? Make him go away and leave me. I have promised to do the best I can to-night. What more can he ask?"

"You need not see him unless you choose; I will take him your excuses," and he left the house, and returned to Mr. Ross.

"I have brought her excuses in place of herself, and you must rest content with that, Mr. Ross. I think it will not be best to risk the chance of a second refusal, and but for Mrs. Gurney's interference I would have had to bring it, I fear. Let it pass till some other time and take no notice of any coolness she may show to-night, for that public announcement has cut her deeply."

"I am grieved to hear it, Mr. Sherwood; I will endeavor to atone for it at some future time," and with a few parting words he left the house. Very pretty was the picture that the young girls made, as they fluttered about the rooms helping each other to put the finishing touches to their toilets. Gussie's pink and white complexion looked lovelier than ever when set off with a suit in which pale blue and white lace formed the chief parts. Dexie seemed like a gleam of summer sunshine as she fluttered here and there; her pretty suit had been draped with some gauzy material, that glistened and sparkled as the light fell through its folds. The long sleeves had been replaced by short lace ones, trimmed to match the pretty lace bertha, and the long handsome gloves quite completed her costume.

"There, I believe we are all ready at last," said Dexie, as she picked up her neglected flowers. "Let me fasten this cluster of rosebuds in your belt, Cora, as the finishing touch; then I will make a boutonniere for Lancy's coat."

"Why, Dexie, you are spoiling your bouquet!" and Cora seized her hand. "I cannot rob you of your flowers."

"But you will take them as a gift, Cora, since they are so beautiful. It would be a pity not to use them. I do not intend to carry them, for I want no flowers from Mr. Ross."

"But perhaps Mr. Ross will not be pleased if you give your flowers away," said Gussie, holding her own bouquet daintily to her nose.

"I fancy that his pleasure or displeasure will not affect me," and an angry gleam brightened her eyes. "I merely accepted them as a peace-offering which binds me for this night only. If the flowers help to make someone else entrancing, they will fulfil their mission as well as if I carried them."

"Well, if we are all ready let us go down and show ourselves to our private families before we try to charm the eyes and ears of the public," said Cora. "Your parents are in the parlor, Dexie; go and make your best bow, before you put on your wraps; Gussie, do likewise," and Cora gave a sweeping look over their figures. "Why, Dexie!" she added, "are you not going to wear any jewelry after all?" and she pointed to the case she had opened for Dexie's selection.

"Please, if you don't mind, I would rather not. I feel dressed enough."

"So you are, Dexie," Lancy exclaimed, coming to the door at this moment. "Flashing jewels could not improve you, for you look stunning already. But the horses are waiting in the cold, while you girls are admiring yourselves."

With that they ran down the stairs, all except Dexie, who turned to the dressing-table in search of a pin, and as they left the room Lancy came hastily towards her.

"Oh! is it you, Lancy? I have saved some flowers for you. Shall I pin them on?"

As she did so, Lancy slipped his arm around her, and his admiring eyes confirmed the words that fell from his lips. "You are beautiful to-night, Dexie. You need not fear any audience with those brilliant eyes and cherry lips. You will win all hearts, as you have mine."

Dexie lifted her eyes in surprise, and saw a lover's face very near her own, and before she could retreat he had pressed her to his heart, and kissed her on both cheeks.

"For shame! look!" and she pointed to a mirror where their images were reflected. "What would your mother say to such rudeness, sir?"

"I think she would say, 'Dexie, give Lancy one kiss for his trouble this afternoon.' Don't you think I deserve one, my Dexie?"

But Dexie flew past him and downstairs to the parlor, where her parents and Aunt Jennie were awaiting her.

"How do you like my looks, mamma? Am I not pretty, for once?" she asked.

"If you had behaved as well as you look I would see no cause for complaint," said her mother coolly; "but a 'daw in borrowed feathers' is never a pretty sight."

"But, mamma, I am going to be just as good as I look, for this evening anyway; and I am sure, if my eyesight does not deceive me and my friends do not flatter, that I never looked better, so I'm content," and she left the room to put on her outside garments.

She meekly submitted to the extra wraps that Lancy insisted on placing round her face, and she felt, as she stood beside him, that Lancy's tenderness and love added not a little to her daily happiness, even though she had not just the same regard for him as he professed to have for her.

"I think I'll drive down with Hugh," she said teasingly, as they came down the steps to the street, where both sleighs were waiting.

"But I won't let you," said Lancy quickly. "You are mine for this evening. I have earned that much, surely. I can't spare you to anyone else, my Dexie," and he lifted her in beside himself.

They drove quickly to the hall, and were soon in the dressing-room, among the bevy of young ladies who were to take part in the concert. Gussie's heart was pierced with envy as she noticed how much attention was bestowed on her sister, and she heartily wished that Dexie had kept to her refusal of the morning.

Mr. Ross noticed that his peace-offering was not appreciated, and wisely refrained from further remarks, giving the necessary directions in as few words as possible.

Very gay did the Temperance Hall look that evening, with its walls draped with bunting and its stage decorated with palms and other ornamental plants; and it never held a larger audience than now awaited the opening chorus, while the applause that filled the house at its close seemed to make the rafters ring.

The first selections were admirably performed, and were fully enjoyed by those present, but when that part of the programme was reached in which the "American Warbler" made her first appearance, the enthusiasm reached its height, and found vent in round after round of applause.

Lancy made his appearance first, taking his seat at the piano. This intimated that he was not the "Warbler," and the audience looked around in doubt, as if asking each other what next to expect.

A moment later Dexie appeared, and the sea of expectant faces made her tremble. What if she should fail?

The appearance of this bright young girl, bowing before them, caused a moment's hush to fall upon the people. Was she the "warbler," and what was the character of the performance that was rated so highly? After an exquisitely rendered interlude, Dexie's clear whistle joined the accompaniment, and seemed to hold the listeners spell-bound. At its close a moment of silence followed, but when Lancy rose from the instrument the applause began, and grew louder and more deafening, and Mr. Ross hurried to Dexie's side as she left the stage.

"You must come forward again, Miss Sherwood; that encore is not to be resisted," as the thunderous applause grew in volume.

She took Lancy's arm at last, and stepped forward and bowed her acknowledgement. But that was not enough; nothing but a repetition would satisfy the enthusiastic audience, and when Mr. Ross asked her to give "The Mocking Bird" she felt obliged to consent. Mr. Ross had rightly judged a Halifax audience when he said it would not be content with one performance, and not till the strains from the piano rang through the building, followed by the appearance of Dexie, did the uproar cease.

Lancy played a long interlude to give Dexie time to compose herself, then the first strains of the familiar song floated softly through the hall, and very tender and touching did the words sound as they fell from Lancy's lips, for genuine feeling was behind them. It was like a passage in a love-story, and where is the person that does not enjoy the repetition of some passages, even though they may, at the same time, pronounce them silly and sentimental in the extreme?

Dexie stood near the piano. Her soft, low whistle seemed to come from a distance, then floated nearer and nearer, gaining strength and volume as the song progressed; and when Lancy sang "Listen to the Mocking Bird," the joyous, bewildering notes of the birds she was imitating seemed floating directly overhead, then receded as the next verse was sung, returning fuller and sweeter to accompany the chorus, each verse seeming to grow more tender and beautiful, and, when it ended, the enraptured audience showed their appreciation by applauding with all their strength.

"No; I cannot go out again," Dexie said, as Mr. Ross urged her to appear once more in answer to the call. "It is not fair to the rest, for there are other things on the programme much nicer."

"Just this once more," Lancy pleaded, his eyes shining with satisfaction.

"Come on to the stage, at least, Miss Sherwood," said Mr. Ross, "or they will have the house down over our ears. May I announce that you will whistle again at the conclusion of the programme?" and Dexie had to consent. Mr. Ross led her to the front of the stage, and the audience, expecting another repetition, subsided into silence; but it was soon broken when the announcement was made that they should have another selection later on.

Mr. Sherwood found his way to the dressing-rooms, and received Dexie with open arms, while numbers gathered around to congratulate her on her success.

"I am proud of you, Dexie," her father said, as they stepped aside. "I was down among the audience while you were whistling, and on every side I heard words of warmest praise. Your fear of being hissed was a foolish fear, after all. I am sure you are not sorry that you came here to-night."

"No, papa; but I do hope that Mrs. Gurney will be pleased. I whistled for her and Lancy to-night, and if they are satisfied, that is enough. But, listen! That is Gussie's voice; that is the duet between her and Miss Burns. Oh, I do hope they will applaud her heartily!"

But no such feeling had dwelt in Gussie's heart when Dexie was before the audience. If she had failed, had completely broken down or been hissed off the stage, as Dexie herself feared, Gussie would have exulted in her failure; yet if Gussie had faltered in the least, none would have felt it so keenly as her twin sister Dexie.

"Did you see Hugh among the audience?" Lancy whispered from behind her chair.

"Yes; how savage he looked! Such a scowl does not improve his handsome face, if he only knew it. I never saw him look more fierce."

"I expect that he did not like to see you leaning on my arm before them all," he whispered. "He is fearfully jealous, Dexie, so do not flirt with him any more when he goes in to see Gussie," he added, as he stroked his growing moustache.

"I am not likely to flirt with Hugh McNeil or anyone else," she said, with some spirit; "but judging by the looks cast in this direction, I am under suspicion already, so please leave me, Lancy."

The several selections on the programme were performed to everyone's satisfaction, but every time that Dexie appeared, either as a singer or accompanist, she was received with such marked favor that it was plainly to be seen who was the favorite.

"Now, Miss Sherwood," said Mr. Ross, as the last piece ended and cries for "the warbler" arose in the hall, "send them home so well pleased with our entertainment that they will all be eager to attend our next."

"There is to be no repetition this time, Mr. Ross," said Dexie, decidedly. "Let Mr. Gurney play the National Anthem directly the piece is ended."

"Very well. I will direct the members of the club to be ready to step forward the moment your piece is finished, and we will dismiss them with 'God Save the Queen.'"

As Lancy and Dexie made their appearance the clapping of hands arose again, and, under cover of the noise, Dexie whispered a few words to Lancy, who immediately secured another piano stool. Then they both sat down before the instrument and waited for the signal to begin.

A moment later and the outburst of melody that filled the hall seemed to come from a multitude of song-birds, and the peculiar, bird-like whistle never sounded sweeter or clearer as it rang out in answer to Lancy's more powerful notes, their fingers meanwhile flying over the keys in delightful harmony. Dexie forgot the hundreds of eager listeners. She seemed to have partaken of the free, joyous nature of the birds she was so cleverly imitating, and when the last notes had died away the applause that greeted their ears seemed to shake the building.

It was a decided relief when the notes from the piano overruled the uproar. A moment later and the stage was peopled by the members of the club, the notes of the National Anthem sounded through the hall, and the audience below rose to their feet at this the closing signal.

As the crowd passed out the door, Hugh McNeil made his way to the front; and as he went at once to help Cora Gurney, and gave Gussie the assistance she asked for, Dexie thought nothing of his sudden appearance amongst them until he bent over her and hissed in her ear:

"I could have killed the both of you as you stood there making love to each other before them all, as if you belonged to him already! You shall be mine, not his! I swear it! so take care how you trifle with me!"

Dexie, terrified by his angry looks, hurried away, and Lancy, noticing her white face, asked anxiously:

"What has happened to you, Dexie? You are as white as a ghost."

"Oh! that big Frenchman has frightened me. Didn't you see him talking to me just now?"

"Yes, but I supposed he was congratulating you on your success."

"It is a pity you could not have heard his congratulations, Lancy. I fancy you would not consider them complimentary," and they hurried homeward.

Mrs. Gurney had arranged a little supper for those of the household who attended the concert, and if anyone noticed Hugh's absence, no one dreamed of the cause thereof.

The skill that was required to keep out of Hugh's way during the weeks that followed, might have raised Dexie to an eminent position if it could have been turned into another channel. Such a sharp lookout lest Hugh might find her alone, such a dodging through doors when his strategy had almost succeeded in bringing her face to face—really it was a marvel how skilfully she avoided him. Yet the fact that she did avoid him gave him a false hope, and he thought if he could once lay his heart before her the battle would be his.



CHAPTER XVIII.

Winter changed into spring slowly yet surely, and the almanac declared that summer was nigh long before people were prepared to accept the assurance.

To Elsie Gurney the spring had been particularly trying, and her mother began to feel anxious as day after day found her lying on a couch, listless and weary. The doctor advised change of scene as the best means to recover health and spirits, and Mrs. Gurney decided at last to accept the kind and repeated invitation of a dear friend living in Charlottetown, and send Elsie thither under Lancy's escort. Mrs. Gurney wrote to her friend explaining Elsie's condition, and the kind letter that came in reply caused preparations to be made at once for the visit.

"My guest chambers are all vacant," wrote Mrs. Fremont, "and my girls are delighted with the prospect of having someone new to the place to show around and gossip with. But, with your houseful, surely you can spare more than two of your family. Remember, I have not seen any of you since we came to Charlottetown, so be generous. Launcelot must not think of returning for some weeks, and he must come prepared to see a deal of service, for my girls have already planned drives and picnics that he must lead to success, for Huburt has not yet returned from abroad, and an elder brother is sadly missed in these little pleasure-parties. Elsie shall have the best of care, and I feel safe in promising that when she returns home all trace of her illness will be dispelled."

But Elsie shrank from this visit and begged to be allowed to stay at home. She was naturally shy and reserved, and to go among new faces, and into strange places, and be expected to take part in the pleasures that were being prepared, oh! this was worse than being ill at home, for then her own dear ones would be near her.

But the visit, like the big doses of medicine that the doctor ordered, had to be taken, whether she liked it or not, and the preparations went on, though it grieved her mother to see how Elsie shrank from the visit.

One day when Elsie was crying about her "banishment from home," Dexie Sherwood came into the room, and learning the cause of Elsie's tears she frankly stated her mind as follows:

"Well, if you are not a baby, then I never saw one! The idea of you lying there crying until your eyes are red and swollen because you are going off on a fine cruise! I declare! if I thought I should be treated half so well, I'd fall sick this very day, and you may be sure I would select some complaint that required a change of scene to restore me," and, assuming an expression of extreme woe, she added:

"Your kind friend in Charlottetown didn't say that any sick neighbor might join you, I suppose? for, ah me! I am beginning to feel awfully bad already. Where, oh! where can I go to regain my shattered health?"

Elsie's tears of grief changed to tears of laughter, and she replied,

"Well, I suppose it does look silly for me to be fretting because I have to go away, but I hate to go among strange people. If Cora could come with me I would not mind it at all."

"But Lancy is going with you," said Dexie, "so you cannot come to any great harm. The people over there are quite civilized, I'm told, so they won't likely eat you; not till you get a little more flesh on your bones, anyway."

Mrs. Gurney, who was in the room, lifted her eyes to Dexie's animated face, and said in her gentle, motherly tone,

"Dexie, my dear, why couldn't you go with Elsie? I was stupid not to have thought of it before."

"For my health, do you mean, Mother Gurney? But I am afraid I have recovered it already. I have made Elsie laugh, and the unusual sound has cured me like a charm."

"Well, not exactly for your health, my dear, but for Elsie's," she replied, as she looked into the laughing face before her. "When I think of the double benefit your companionship would be to her, I wonder that the thought did not occur to me before."

"Oh! Mrs. Gurney, I feel so ashamed," and Dexie covered her hot cheeks for a moment with her hands. "I never intended to suggest such a thing when I made such a thoughtless remark. Oh! what can you think of me! Indeed I only said it to make Elsie laugh."

"There, there; of course I understood your bit of fun," and Mrs. Gurney patted the blushing girl on her shoulder, "but when a suggestion made in sport brings such a change in Elsie's looks, how much good would result if the jest were turned to earnest."

"But imagine me going to Mrs. Fremont's when she is not aware of my existence! I couldn't pass myself off as Cora, for I am too unlike any of the family. Indeed, I fear my wickedness would soon betray me," her embarrassment giving place to a mischievous air.

"If I write and introduce you, you can feel as sure of as hearty a welcome as if you were one of my family. But we must not make plans till we consult your parents," said Mrs. Gurney, turning to leave the room.

"Oh! Dexie, if you only would come with me, it would make all the difference in the world," said Elsie. "A weight seems lifted off my heart at the thought."

"Yes, but look at all the nice dresses you are getting made. You would find me a very shabby companion, for I never dare ask mamma for a new dress unless Gussie is in need of one also; but now that papa is home I might manage that difficulty, and I am quite sure of Aunt Jennie's help."

Mrs. Gurney was soon discussing the matter with the parents next door, making much of the great favor it would be to herself if they would spare Dexie to accompany Elsie to Charlottetown. Consent was readily granted, though Mrs. Sherwood could not refrain from expressing a fear that the necessary preparations would be rather troublesome, as she did not feel able to make any extra exertion herself.

Mrs. Sherwood was quite an invalid, or at least she thought she was, which amounted to about the same thing. Necessity did not compel her to bestir herself very much, so she began to think she could not, and she was generally found lying on a sofa with a book as companion.

Dexie's absence from home would be rather a pleasant relief than otherwise, as she had an unpleasant way of finding unfinished work and laying it in a work-basket by her mother's side for completion. Dexie's brisk ways and ceaseless activity were extremely annoying, as it seemed a continual reproach to Mrs. Sherwood, who preferred the easy, languid movements of her twin sister.

No one raised any objections to Mrs. Gurney's plans except Gussie, and her objections were many and loudly expressed.

It was shameful of Dexie to thrust herself into the Gurney family as she was doing. Anyone could see that it was more on Lancy's account than Elsie's that Dexie was so delighted to accompany them. Why didn't she go and live with them at once? She might as well, seeing that so much of her sewing was being prepared in Mrs. Gurney's sewing-room.

This, and pages more, was reiterated daily, till Dexie would snatch up her work and run to her aunt's room, and she was heartily glad when the time came to leave Gussie and her unkind words behind her.

Yet it was not only on Gussie's account that she felt so glad to be off, for, when Hugh McNeil heard of her intended departure, he added his persecutions also. At first, when he learned that Lancy was to accompany Elsie, his heart beat high with hope. Dexie would be free from Lancy's influence, and he hoped much from a few weeks of uninterrupted intercourse. His passion for Dexie had grown as the weeks went by, and when the one obstacle, Lancy, was removed, all would be well. His visits to the Sherwoods were more frequent than ever, and he openly showed his preference for Dexie's society.

But Gussie had no other admirer just then, and she accepted the attentions meant for her sister as if they were her own just due. This was so exasperating to Hugh that, when Dexie turned away from him, he would take his hat and leave abruptly. This strange behavior Gussie set down to everything except the true cause, for she did not dream that Hugh's affections had been transferred to her sister, for Dexie openly snubbed him.

But, when Hugh learned that Dexie was preparing to accompany the others, he was almost beside himself with rage. He refused at first to believe it—the idea was too preposterous! Well it was that the announcement was not made to him before the assembled household, for his face revealed the fierce conflict within, and he had quite as many objections to make as Gussie, though they were not so openly and freely expressed. Chancing to meet Dexie in the hall, after repeated efforts to catch her alone, his bitter disappointment was so touchingly expressed that, for the first time, Dexie felt a sort of pity for the man, though she could not understand the intense feeling that seemed to possess him.

"Promise me five minutes alone! only five minutes!" he begged, as Dexie tried to pass him. "You will surely grant me that small favor before you go! I must speak to you, Dexie, even if you refuse me a private interview."

"I have no right to grant even 'five minutes' interview' to my sister's lover," was the cool reply. "You can have nothing to say to me that might not be said before the whole family."

"Am I your sister's lover? You know better, Dexie! I have been blinded by her pretty face, but my eyesight has returned to me. I want something more than beauty in my future wife," and he tried to catch her hand.

But Dexie was too quick for this movement, and she hotly replied:

"And I hope you may get it! May she be blessed with a temper hot enough to make even a Frenchman tire of dancing to the music of her tongue!" and with this retort she flew past him, and the door slammed behind her.

Hugh stood for a moment and gazed after her; then, turning on his heel, pulled the ends of his long moustache into his mouth as he muttered to himself:

"Not so bad, my little girl! The hot temper is there fast enough, but it won't make me dance, unless it will be for joy at getting the owner of it."

This happened just the day before they started on their journey, and, through the hours of that busy day, Dexie kept wondering what Hugh wished to tell her. Should she see him and be done with it? No; for his earnest looks and half-spoken words told all too plainly the nature of the interview. Dexie never could explain, even to herself, why she disliked Hugh so much; but his very presence seemed to raise up all the opposition there was within her. To a stranger, he would have seemed more attractive than Lancy Gurney. His figure had attained to manly proportions, and his manner had a charm that was quite pleasing. His dark, handsome face and brilliant black eyes seemed to tell of southern birth; and the heavy, upward-curling moustache added much to his attractions. Dexie had looked upon him with favorable eyes when she first came to Halifax. He had formed a striking contrast to Gussie's fair beauty, but the memory of his handsome face was far from pleasant as Dexie thought of the words he had spoken to her in the hall.

Yet Hugh succeeded after all, and the five minutes he asked for thrice repeated themselves before Dexie could escape from his presence.

The back of the house, or ell, which formed the kitchen, was a story less in height than the main building, and its flat roof was often utilized by both families as a drying-ground for small articles of clothing, and Dexie had stepped out of the window that overlooked this roof to bring in some forgotten articles that hung on the line.

It had been very warm all day, and as Dexie stood a minute, enjoying the cool breeze that blew in from the harbor, her figure was distinctly outlined to observers from the rear of the house; but her presence might have escaped notice, had she not been softly whistling some little song.

Hugh had just returned from the depot, where he had taken the luggage which was to accompany the young travellers in the morning, and his heart was full of bitter feelings as he thought of his master's son filling the place he coveted so dearly.

As he passed into the yard, Dexie's soft whistle reached his ears. He was too well acquainted with the sound not to recognize the source of it, and, glancing up, he saw her there in the twilight, the breeze gently lifting her wavy hair and fluttering the ribbons around her neck, as if endeavoring to attract his attention. One glance was enough, and before Dexie knew he had returned from the depot, she was startled by his appearance beside her.

She turned to enter the house, but Hugh had not gained this opportunity merely to let it slip by, so he boldly stepped before her and shut the window, and his exultant face was a strong contrast to the expression depicted on Dexie's.

They stood thus face to face for several moments, silently regarding each other—Hugh flushed with triumph, his eyes glowing with a feeling of victory; Dexie, her heart beating fast in her anger, white and defiant as she regarded her audacious companion.

It was Dexie who broke the silence. In a tone of the utmost contempt she said, as she waved him aside:

"Stand back out of my way and let me pass," and she moved towards the window.

"Not yet, Dexie, just hear me for a moment. I want to speak to you."

"Not a word, sir, let me pass at once! How dare you keep me here against my will!"

His tone of entreaty changed to command.

"Because it is my will that you shall hear me," and his face grew paler as he spoke. "For once you shall listen to what I have to say. I can be silent no longer."

"Well, if you must unburden your mind, talk to the chimney there; it will care quite as much for what you have to say as I. It is quite in keeping with the estimate I had formed for you, to keep me here a prisoner on the house-top. Stand aside at once and let me enter the house."

"Dexie," he said more firmly, "I am not going to let you pass until I tell you what I came here to say. Is it not enough that I am to lose the sight of your bright face for such long, weary weeks, that I must be refused these few moments—moments that I must perforce steal from you if I am to get them at all? Do I need to tell you what a blank my life will be while you are away; and not only a blank, but a fearful dream of blasted hopes and weary longing? Oh, Dexie, take away some of the bitterness that your absence will cause, by giving me, at least, the promise that you will not forget me while you are away."

"Not forget you, indeed!" she said in a rising voice. "I may forgive you this insult, but you may be sure that I will do my best to forget you, just as quickly as I can. I am not given to remembering unpleasant things."

"Dexie, do not talk so bitterly; you do not mean it; say you do not, Dexie?" he said, entreatingly. "You are vexed at being kept here against your will; come, then, let us go inside and talk it over quietly," he added, persuasively, and he reached for her hand.

"But I do mean every word of it," and she stepped back out of his reach, "and if you do not wish to hear me express myself more plainly, I'd advise you to open the window at once."

"Hear me a moment, Dexie. I know you are prejudiced against me on account of Gussie; but give me time to prove that I am in earnest when I say that it is you that I love," and her hands were instantly imprisoned in his strong clasp, "and I love you, Dexie, with the intense love that a strong man feels for the one woman who is all the world to him, a love that is not to be compared with the boyish feeling that Lancy Gurney has for you. Give me some hope, Dexie, that sometime in the future, when you have rightly considered the matter, you will look on me with a more kindly feeling in your heart than you are willing to own to to-night."

Dexie freed her hands by a great effort. His words had flowed like a torrent from his lips, and she took a step back from him, as she replied,

"Mr. McNeil, I will never regard you in the light you are thinking of, so all this talk is worse than folly."

"Have I spoken too late?" he almost hissed.

His eyes seemed to burn as he looked into her face.

"Have you already promised yourself to Lancy? Tell me!"

"I will not!" came the defiant answer. "You have no right to ask such a question, and I will not answer it!"

Her defiant air and scornful words angered him. He had buoyed himself up with the hope that if he once declared his love she would be touched with the declaration, and, if she did refuse him, would do it in a kindly way that would bid him hope for better luck by and by; but to have his love flung back in his teeth, as it were, was more than his passionate nature could bear.

"Oh! so you love him, do you, and spurn me. Tell me, is it so?"

Again she stepped back from him as he was speaking, and was unaware how very near she was to the edge of the roof; but Hugh observed it, and thinking he could force a confession from her lips through fear, if by no other means, he quickly grasped her arm, saying in a voice trembling with passion:

"Do you love him? Tell me, or I'll throw you over!"

Dexie turned her head, and for one awful moment, as she realized her peril, her face blanched to her very lips; but instead of the answer Hugh expected, she raised her eyes to his, and he quailed beneath their terrible glance, as she cried:

"Throw me over then, you coward, for I'll never tell you!"

An instant they stood thus face to face, on the very edge of the roof, when Hugh's better nature asserted itself, and he quickly drew her back to safety, exclaiming hoarsely:

"Forgive me, Dexie, I never meant to do it, indeed I did not; I would not harm a hair of your dear head for a thousand worlds!"

He felt weak and small before the girl whom he had thought to bend to his will, and made no effort now to keep her from entering the house, but stepped to the window beside her and raised it, endeavoring all the while to get a word of forgiveness from her close-shut lips. She never even turned her head in his direction, but entered the house and into her own room, and Hugh was obliged to descend with a more uncomfortable feeling in his breast than he had felt there when he sought Dexie's presence on the roof. "Baffled, after all," was his silent comment; "a coward, she called me; yes, it was a cowardly thing to do, and I might have known she would resent it. But how handsome she looked as she defied me on the very edge of the roof! I believe she would not have opened her lips and answered that question, even to save her life, after she had once refused to speak! But I'll win her yet, and she will be doubly dear when conquered at last, my brave Dexie!" and with feelings that were only intensified by this interview, he returned to the yard to prepare the carriage for the drive to the depot next morning.

It was some satisfaction to be able to see that everything possible was done for the comfort of his darling, though it was bitterness itself to think of her going away under the escort of Lancy Gurney.

When he re-entered the house, his unusual pallor was quickly noticed by Mrs. Gurney, and she kindly asked:

"Are you very tired, Hugh?"

Without lifting his eyes, he replied:

"No, not tired, but heart-sick."

"What is it, Hugh? What is the trouble?" she asked, in her kind, motherly tone.

"Do not ask me, please! it is nothing that can be remedied, believe me," and he raised his eyes a moment and met her inquiring gaze.

"Well, my boy, you, like the rest of us, I suppose, have just so much pain and trouble to bear in this world. Do not let it bear too heavily on your young heart; all is for the best in the end, you know," and her hand was laid on his shoulder with a sympathetic pressure, as she passed on.

All for the best! when in all the hasty preparations that are of necessity left till the last few hours before a journey, no one even thought of the fierce heart-struggle that was his, or would have cared about it had they known it! There seemed to be no kind word of remembrance for him, amidst the bustle and confusion that reigned around him. He felt as if he stood apart from those who, up to this time, seemed as near to him as kith and kin.



CHAPTER XIX.

Both families were early astir the next morning, but the hour soon arrived that the last "good-byes" must be said, and Mrs. Gurney had reason to be thankful that Dexie was one of the party, otherwise it would have been impossible to have started Elsie on her journey without seeming to be harsh. As it was, Elsie clung to each of the family in turn, as if her journey were to extend to the Cape of Good Hope, and the length of her stay to be indefinite. She was lifted into the carriage at last, her hat pulled back on her head, and her disordered apparel otherwise smoothed out by Dexie, and Hugh was bidden by Mr. Gurney to "drive on quickly," amidst the shrill choruses of "good-byes" from the little ones of the family who had gathered on the steps to see them off. Seeing that Elsie still kept looking back and waving her handkerchief in token of farewell, Mrs. Gurney drew the children into the house, and then went away to her own room, where, for a short time, she remained. When she appeared among them again, her face had regained its usual calm and placid expression. She had left her burden with the Great Burden-bearer, and though her heart would go after her daughter in loving solicitude, she felt that Elsie was in safe-keeping, and so could rest content.

During the drive to the depot, Dexie was all life and animation. She plied Lancy with questions which she gave little chance to answer, until she succeeded in getting Elsie's attention turned to outward things, and as they drove rapidly along the road, they began to speculate whether any of the occupants of the cabs that were going in the same direction were to be fellow-travellers.

Hugh was unusually silent—perhaps it was just as well that he was—but the rest of the party kept up such a stream of talk that his want of speech was not remarked.

His heart was too sore for speech, for Dexie's cold, indifferent look cut deeper than she knew. He had not been able to get a word with her since the unfortunate interview on the roof, but he felt that he must have one parting word, and he kept revolving in his mind what he could say that would likely win for him one word of forgiveness for his unguarded words.

But it was not easy to obtain even the smallest speech amidst the bustle and distraction of the moving crowd at the depot. Lancy hurried the girls into the car that they might have a choice of seats, then, leaving them comfortably seated, he left the car to secure their tickets and checks.

Had it not been for the fact that amidst the hurry of gathering up the wraps, etc., from the carriage, they had forgotten that ever-welcome addition to one's travelling paraphernalia, the lunch-basket, Hugh might have been unable to get a word from Dexie beyond the curt "good-bye" that she had already cut and dried, as it were, and ready to fling out the window at him at the last moment.

But Hugh's keen eyes observed the forgotten basket, that had been packed with such care, and seizing it he entered the car, just as Lancy was leaving it at the opposite door.

Lancy had wisely chosen the centre seats as being the most comfortable, and Dexie sat chatting gaily to Elsie lest the home-parting should again come before her mental vision, when she saw Hugh enter the car.

She had just time to compose her face into a look of solemn indifference, when Hugh reached her side.

"You forgot the lunch-basket, Elsie," he said, looking across at Dexie who sat facing her. "You left it in the carriage."

"Oh! so we did," said Elsie. "Whatever should we have done if you had not seen it in time! Wasn't it lucky, Dexie, that he noticed it?"

"Oh! I suppose so," was her indifferent reply, "but we could easily have bought something when we felt hungry. I hope, Elsie, that you do not think we are going into a wilderness where people live on grass roots!" and she coolly leaned back in her seat, rearranged the pretty tie at her throat, then pulled a book from the strap, as if ready for the perusal of it when Hugh would be kind enough to relieve them of his presence.

But Hugh was not to be dismissed by hints. Taking the seat by Elsie's side, and opposite Dexie, he said: "Still, I am sure you would have felt sorry to have forgotten it; you know it is the last home-cooking you will eat for some time, Elsie."

Whereupon Elsie's lip began to quiver, and a suspicion of moisture to appear in her eyes; a word more of home matters would cause the drops to fall into the handkerchief that Elsie was already pulling out of her pocket, in readiness to catch the coming shower. Dexie could have boxed Hugh's ears with a good grace, but she refrained.

"Don't be a goose, Elsie," was her flattering remark. "Just as if no one else in the country could make a decent cake but your Susan! Don't, for goodness' sake, get sentimental over eatables just because Mr. McNeil happens to be struck that way."

The tears forgot to fall, the handkerchief was left in a crumpled heap, hanging half out of her pocket; and as soon as the lump that was in her throat could be disposed of, Elsie ventured meekly to remark that she "was sure Lancy would be late if he did not hurry in."

This recalled Hugh to the fact that unless he made good use of the few remaining minutes, his words to Dexie would be left unsaid; and as Elsie leaned out the window in hopes of seeing Lancy, he bent forward to Dexie, saying in a low voice,

"Say that you forgive me, Dexie, before you go. I was wild with pain at the thought of you leaving me so long with nothing to hope for. I cannot let you go without a word of forgiveness for my hasty words; you know I never meant to do it, Dexie, for I would die to save you from harm."

"Very kind of you, I am sure! but pray do not have any funeral on my account. I feel quite capable of looking after myself, and I hope you will not make it necessary for me to repeat this assertion in the future. Say no more about forgiveness; the occurrence is too recent for that, but I will try to forget it."

"Dexie, do not speak so cruelly. How can I prove that I love you, and that it was the thought of losing you that drove me to madness! You can't believe that I meant to carry out my murderous threat—no! I cannot think it, when my own heart aches with love and longing for you. If I write to you, Dexie, and lay my heart open before you, surely you will believe me!"

"Do not trouble yourself to write, Mr. McNeil," was the scornful reply. "If you have any heart-trouble, you will find me a poor physician, for I have not the slightest interest in your condition."

"Dexie, are you going to leave me with no kinder remembrance of you than those cruel words? I must write, Dexie; say that you will answer my letter," and a look of entreaty beamed from the dark eyes raised to her face.

"Couldn't think of it! I am going away to enjoy myself, and am not going to bother writing to every Tom, Dick and Harry, so I'll have to throw you over!" and a pair of defiant eyes met his gaze.

Hugh's passionate nature was raised to the utmost, but he choked back the words that rose to his lips, and giving her one long, earnest look, said in a hoarse voice: