Dexie missed her Halifax friends very much. She met with no one in her new home who could fill the place that the Gurney family had held in her heart, and among all her many friends there was none she could make such an intimate companion of as Elsie Gurney. In musical circles, Dexie soon filled an envious position; but so far she had met no one whose sympathies were like Lancy's. Oh, yes, she missed Lancy very much, indeed—she never hesitated to confess it when the matter was alluded to; and very often, when alone in the parlor, the piece of music which had such a strange power over each of them filled the air with unmistakable longing, and seemed to speak of loneliness and sorrow. But her bright face expressed no such sad feeling to others; it seemed only the musical side of her nature that mourned the loss of a kind and sympathetic friend.

She heard quite frequently from Elsie, and Lancy's weekly letters were always bright and chatty; but they left Dexie with a certain uneasy feeling that should have had no place in her heart, if Lancy's expressed regards met with the reciprocation which he had some right to expect.

She would not have cared to confess to the relief she experienced when, some weeks later, Lancy wrote to her of his intended visit to England, where he meant to spend a few months among his relatives in Devonshire; and the thought that the wide ocean would be between them, did not cause the same regretful feeling in her heart as it did in Lancy's. Once since they had left Halifax, Dexie, to her surprise, received a letter from Hugh McNeil, that had come enclosed in one to her father. Mr. Sherwood said little as to the contents of his letter; but the earnest, passionate words in Dexie's left no doubt in her mind that Hugh had small intention of giving up his suit, though for the present he would leave her in peace.

He told her of his intention of making a journey to Australia, to visit the last resting-place of his father; and after an extended journey, he hoped to come back and find all the unpleasantness in the past forgiven and forgotten.

For some time after the letter was received, Dexie fancied that her father regarded her with more attention than was necessary; but it soon passed from her mind without giving her the slightest suspicion that Hugh had placed in her father's hands a substantial and unmistakable proof of the genuineness of his regard.

This was to be unknown to her until such a time as circumstances rendered it necessary to communicate the facts. But if he survived the dangers of the passage, and returned safely and found her still free, he would again endeavor to gain her consent to a closer relationship.

Fortunately for Dexie's peace of mind, Mr. Sherwood kept the matter to himself; but the fact that both Hugh and Lancy intended to put the ocean between them and herself, even for a short time, gave her a sense of relief and security which she would have found it difficult to explain.



CHAPTER XXXV.

One day, a few weeks later, as Mr. Sherwood was returning from his office, he was much surprised to meet Mr. Plaisted on the street, and he stopped and spoke to him cordially.

"Why, Sherwood! is it you? I never expected to meet you here," and Mr. Plaisted shook hands with his former partner.

"I am settled here now," replied Mr. Sherwood. "What are you doing in this part of the country?"

"I am travelling for a New York firm; just arrived in town this morning. Did I understand you to say you were living here?"

"Yes; we removed from Halifax some time ago. Here is the address; drop in and see us before you leave town, if you are not pressed for time," and he handed him a card.

"Thanks! I shall be pleased to call this evening, my kind regards to the family," and raising their hats the men separated, with but a passing thought of their former differences.

The presence of Plaisted in the town was a great surprise to the Sherwood family, and Dexie heard of his intended visit with a frown.

"I am astonished, papa, that you could ask him to call after all that has happened; but it is like his impudence to accept the invitation, which he might know was more an act of courtesy than a desire to renew his acquaintance."

"Let bygones be forgotten, Dexie; it is poor policy to remember old scores too long. It is enough that there will never be any more business relations between us. His stay in town is likely to be short, so there is no fear that he will trouble any of us long."

"Well, I hope you will be careful, and not say anything that he can misconstrue into an invitation to remain with us overnight. But it will be just like him to stay, and stay, and stay, till it is too late to go back to the hotel," said Dexie. "But if he manages, after all, to foist himself upon us, I'll take a cook's privilege and leave the house—until he is out of it in the morning, anyway. So remember, papa, I have 'given warning,'" and she shook her finger at him as she turned to leave the room.

But there was no frown on Gussie's face when she heard of Plaisted's expected visit. She was only anxious to appear at her best, so she retired to her chamber and spent the intervening time over a toilet that was meant to impress Mr. Plaisted afresh. She was ready as ever to turn a listening ear to his flattery, though she had ample opportunity to realize how empty and meaningless were his words.

The family were assembled in the parlor when Mr. Plaisted was announced, and he found no cause to complain of his reception, for even Dexie's cool bow and formal greeting were so much like her former treatment of him that when she ignored his offered hand he did not resent it openly. But in his heart he vowed to "get even" with her. The frigid stare with which she regarded him when he attempted to draw her into conversation reminded him of past discomfitures, and, forgetting that he seldom came off victor when crossing swords with Dexie, he determined to pay off old scores with interest. As his business kept him in town for several days, his calls were quite frequent, but he found no chance of annoying Dexie, save by the one small and spiteful way of addressing her as "Miss Dexter," and the quick, angry glance that was flashed at him as he said it told that she resented it.

One afternoon, when he was in the parlor chatting with Gussie, Dexie came into the room on some errand, and her slight bow of recognition gave him an opportunity to ask, in his sneering manner, if she was "keeping her smiles for the disconsolate lovers she had left behind her in Halifax?"

A sharp retort rose to her lips, but she repressed it, and her lip curled with scorn as she answered his sallies in the coolest terms that common civility allowed. He might as well have tried his cutting speeches on an iceberg for all the satisfaction he received, so he dropped back to the only source of annoyance at his command.

"Can I trouble you for a drink of water, Miss Dexter?" he said, with a malicious grin.

Dexie took no notice of this request, knowing it was made only for the purpose of using her detested name.

He repeated his request a second time, and even Gussie flushed at his offensive tone, though she called Dexie's attention to the request.

"Dexie, Mr. Plaisted asks for a drink. Where are your manners?"

"I have sent them away for repairs, Gussie dear," Dexie replied, in her sweetest tone, "and I fear they will not be returned to me until after Mr. Plaisted has taken his departure. Very sorry, but they have experienced such a strain these few days past that they were about worn out."

"Dexie, I am ashamed of you! Bring a drink of water for Mr. Plaisted directly!"

"My dearest Gussie, if Mr. Plaisted wants a drink, pray get it for him yourself," was the soft and sweet reply, "for he will surely die of thirst before Dexter brings him a drop. Allow me to suggest that, as an alternative, you can ring for the servant to wait on him, or lead him to the pump like any other—beast," and unmoved by the looks cast upon her she passed into the next room.

"You brought that upon yourself, Mr. Plaisted, but I am very, very sorry," said Gussie, who felt all the insolence of the words that were spoken with such suavity. "Why will you call her Dexter when you know that it makes her throw aside all civility?"

"Well, it is too bad, I will allow," replied Plaisted, "but I own that I have only myself to blame when I provoke her into making such stinging retorts; but the temptation to tease her is irresistible, and I owe her for a good many tricks she has played on me."

"Well, were I in your place, I would not call her 'Dexter' any more; though if your experience of her is not warning enough, I need say nothing more."

"Well, I must admit that she has always had the best of it so far; but I will take good care she has no chance to repeat any of her former tactics—though, if I am not mistaken, I have good cause to remember every visit I ever made to your house, thanks to her. However, I ought to take the old proverb to heart, 'Those that live in glass houses should not throw stones,' for I should feel vexed enough if my second name were thrown at me in the same manner. It is quite as odious to me as 'Dexter' is to her."

"What is your second name? 'D.S.' are your initials, are they not?"

"Yes; but you would never guess what the 'S.' stands for. When I was a little shaver my father was particularly interested in the history of the Prophet Daniel and his three friends, Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego, and I believe he fully intended to name me after the four of them; but at my christening mother drew the line at Shadrach. I am just as close regarding my second name as Dexie is about her own—so close, in fact, that not one of my schoolmates ever found it out."

"But did they never ask what the 'S.' stood for?" Gussie asked.

"Of course! but Danuel gave it as Samuel, and had to answer to the name of 'Danuel Samuel'; but that was better than the changes they would have rung on my right name."

Dexie was an unintentional listener to this explanation, and it did not raise Mr. Plaisted in her estimation. It was so like him to treat another in a way he would object to himself; but after awhile the name came back to her, "Shadrach." Where had she seen or heard that name before? "Shadrach; Shadrach," she mused. "I have it!" she said at last; "the 'Widow Bedott'!" and with the thought she flew up the stairs like a whirlwind.

Dexie was soon in the attic kneeling beside an old box filled with books and papers. All housekeepers are apt to know by experience the state and condition of this box, and to possess its counterpart in some out of-the-way corner of the house. After a diligent search Dexie was rewarded by finding a package of loose leaves which once formed a much-loved volume. The very leaf she wanted seemed lost; but to her great joy a leaf, crumpled and torn, proved to be the object of her search. She smoothed it out carefully, glanced over it, and then laughed softly to herself.

"Now it is my turn, 'dear Shadrach, my Shad.' With the help of 'Widow Bedott,' I fancy I can impress this visit upon your mind quite as indelibly as your unwelcome visits in Halifax," and she slipped the loose leaves into her pocket.

Still, as yet she had no definite plan in her mind as to how she would play her game of retaliation; but during the evening she heard her father inquire how long Mr. Plaisted intended to remain in the town.

"I leave the day after to-morrow," Plaisted replied. "I have an appointment in H—— on the fifteenth."

"Oh, to-morrow is St. Valentine's day!" cried Gussie. "I really had forgotten it. You must send me a valentine to remember you by"—this to Plaisted, who had seated himself beside her on the sofa.

"Am I likely to be forgotten without some reminder?" was the low-spoken reply. "I was hoping something quite different."

The mention of valentines gave Dexie an idea, and during the evening she visited several stores where these tokens of sentiment were kept for sale, but found nothing in the shape of a picture that would suit the verses of tender sentiment so touchingly expressed for her beloved Shadrach by the fair widow.

As she was returning home she passed a little shop, the windows of which were decorated with valentines of the one and two cent variety, and one of these caught her attention. It was one of the most common sort, and showed in variegated colors a large fish with two tails for legs, two elongated fins for arms, on one of which was a basket containing some smaller specimens of its own species, while the other held to its mouth the melodious fish-horn that delights our ears every morning.

Purchasing this caricature of a shad, she pasted below it a version of the affectionate lines of Widow Bedott; then enclosing it in an elaborate envelope, she addressed it with many flourishes to:

"MR. DANUEL SHADRACH PLAISTED,"

and carried it herself to the post office.

As she passed the fish market her attention was attracted by some very fine shad displayed for sale, and they immediately suggested a further means of accomplishing her revenge, so she ordered a supply.

Dexie sought her mother directly she arrived home.

"Don't you think we might ask Mr. Plaisted to dinner to-morrow, mamma?" she asked.

"Please yourself, Dexie; but if he is asked, you must see about the dinner yourself. It will not do to trust Eliza to get up anything extra, you know."

"The dinner shall be well served, but I have a favor to ask, mamma. If Mr. Plaisted is present, will you praise or condemn the fish course—at the table, I mean; praise it highly, or condemn it heartily."

"Well, I cannot see your object in making such a request, Dexie," said her mother in surprise, "but I will not be indifferent, if that is what you mean."

The next morning, when Mr. Sherwood was drawing on his gloves to go to his office, Dexie followed him out to the hall, and as she brushed a few specks from his coat, asked:

"If you see Mr. Plaisted this morning, will you send or bring him up to dinner; but don't say that I told you to ask him?"

"Well, what's in the wind now? I thought you did not care for Mr. Plaisted's society," regarding her intently.

"An invitation to dinner does not mean that I have changed my opinion of him, does it? He has been quite unbearable, so I'm going to 'heap coals of fire on his head.'"

The roguish gleam in her eyes, and the smile she could not conceal, made her father think that there was more in the invitation than he understood, and he surmised that the "coals of fire" were not absolutely figurative.

"All right! I'll see that he gets the invitation. What shall I order for dinner?"

"Nothing, papa; I have everything ready for our expected guest, so don't let him disappoint me."

"Hum-m! there's something up, sure enough; though I can't see through it yet," he said to himself as he walked thoughtfully away.

"So far, so good," said Dexie, sotto voce. "How I wish I could have seen Shadrach when he opened his valentine this morning!"

Dexie would have felt satisfied that her shaft had struck home had she seen Plaisted when he had "taken in" the contents of his valentine.

He had stepped into the office to mail Gussie's valentine, and was much surprised when a beautiful envelope was placed in his hands. It held something very sweet and delicate, no doubt, and as he turned aside he pressed it to his lips.

Observing the name of Shadrach, he felt sure it must have come from Gussie; no one else knew his second name, so she must have sent this sweet love-token. It was hardly fair to write out his name in full; but, of course, it was only done to make known the identity of the sender. He thrust it into his pocket and hastened to his hotel, where in the privacy of his own room he could enjoy it without interruption. The loving words he expected to find were certainly there, yet as he read them a dark frown gathered on his brow:

"Dear Danuel Shadrach! thy valentine speaks, While the rosy red blushes surmantle her cheeks; And the joys of requital brings tears to her eye. Now, Shadrach! my Shadrach! I'm yours till I die.

"The heart that was scornful and cold as a stone, Rejoices to hear the sweet sound of your name; Farewell to the miseries and griefs I have had, But I cannot forget them! dear Shadrach! my Shad!

"Dear Shadrach! my Shadrach! my troubles are o'er, My name in its fulness you'll whisper no more; Or your own sweet cognomen will make you feel sad, For I hold the whip-handle! Oh Shadrach! my Shad!"

Mr. Plaisted read the lines over several times before he comprehended their meaning, or understood what connection the absurd picture had with them; but when the whole force of the matter struck him, his rage was uncontrollable. He crumpled the valentine in his hands and threw it with all his force towards the fire, but in his anger he aimed too high, and it struck against the wall and bounced back at him, as if those hateful words were hurling themselves at him.

"Ha! if I only knew who sent that, I'd—"

Words failed to express the punishment awaiting the author of those insulting verses. But wait! did he know the handwriting? at thought of Dexie Sherwood's previous productions coming to his mind. Ah! that last verse seemed to throw out a hint! He looked at his tormentor closely, and doubted. That envelope, yes, Gussie must have sent it, for she had spelled his name "Danuel." He never would have thought that Gussie would be guilty of such a thing. He would go away on the next train and never look on her face again. Yes, he would go at once, and forget the whole cursed stuff—said "cursed stuff" being the affectionate lines which continued to haunt him after the manner of the mind-destroying craze which Mark Twain inflicted on a later generation, "Punch, brothers, punch with care;" for as he walked down the street the words kept time to his feet, the train bells echoed them, and it was those very words that pealed a warning at the crossing. So intent were his thoughts on the affectionate lines that he was oblivious to everything around him, and Mr. Sherwood spoke his name twice before Plaisted awoke from his reverie.

He felt inclined to refuse the kindly-worded invitation to dinner which Mr. Sherwood extended to him, but, on second thoughts, accepted it; he would satisfy himself as to whether Gussie sent the valentine or not. But it took only a few questions to assure him that Gussie was innocent, after all, and she seemed so offended when he asked if she had told his name to anyone that he felt compelled to believe she knew nothing of the matter. Gussie was too much enraptured with her own valentine to take much note of Plaisted's abstracted manner, for even the sight of Gussie's pretty face did not put aside the memory of those tormenting lines.

But his torture was only begun. Dexie was determined to crowd into a few hours the annoyance he had spread over several days in her case. Her plans were well laid, and she had even studied a book of statistics for his benefit. A few minutes before dinner was announced, while Gussie was adding a few touches to her toilet, Dexie came into her room, and, after a few general remarks, said: "Mr. Plaisted has come to dinner, has he not?"

"Yes, papa sent him up. I hope you have something nice for dinner, Dexie."

This was the very question that Dexie hoped to hear, so she replied: "Oh! yes, I think it will pass. There is some nicely-cooked shad for the fish course; but if that does not suit Mr. Plaisted's fancy, there is sufficient besides. Say, Gussie, I don't often ask a favor, but I wish to-day you would praise the shad."

"Praise the shad! Why on earth should I praise the shad! If it is cooked nice, isn't that enough?"

"No, Gussie, not for this occasion; I'm afraid Mr. Plaisted will not be partial to shad, but if the rest of us seem to like it, of course he cannot refuse it."

"Oh! all right. I'll not only praise the shad, but I'll make Mr. Plaisted think there is nothing I like better."

Gussie hastened down to the parlor, where Mr. Plaisted was waiting, while Dexie threw herself into a chair in muffled shrieks of laughter.

"There, now, I guess I can keep a straight face till the time arrives;" and a few minutes later she followed the family to the dining-room.

There was certainly nothing amiss in the manner of the cooking or serving of the shad, and the presence of this particular fish at the table did not strike Plaisted as unusual, until Mr. Sherwood asked if he would be "helped to shad."

His mind by this time had become almost normal, but that one word threw him back into his former state, and brought again that tormenting refrain, "Dear Shadrach! my Shad!" He glared at the dish containing the fish as if he would annihilate it; but, hastily collecting his scattering senses, he took the plate Mr. Sherwood passed him, thinking it a strange coincidence that the never-till-now hated fish should be thrust before him at this moment. He tried to be his natural self, but those haunting lines had full possession of him, and every mouthful seemed to choke him.

Dexie was watching him closely, and felt sure that his abstraction was due to the one cause, and she silently enjoyed his discomfiture.

Gussie, who sat opposite, also noticed it, and remembering her promise to Dexie, began:

"Oh! Mr. Plaisted, I'm afraid you do not care for shad! How unfortunate that we happen to have it for dinner to-day! We are all very fond of shad, myself especially, and this is very nicely cooked, just to my liking," and she gave Dexie a sideward look.

"Yes, we all like shad, even to the cat," said the irrepressible Georgie. "I found her with her nose in the basket the first thing."

"Be quiet, sir!" said the father sternly, and Georgie obediently subsided, while Dexie could hardly repress a giggle.

"Let me help you to another piece, Plaisted," said Mr. Sherwood. "What! not any more? It is not often we get such good shad in an inland town. Halifax is the place for fine shad! In the season, when the catch is fair, you can get your pick for a song almost, but here, I expect, their scarcity makes them of more value."

"Yes," replied Dexie, "they are rather dear, dear shad," and she looked intently at her plate, well knowing how Plaisted was glaring at her. "Yes," she added, "I call them dear shad when one has to pick over such a quantity of bones before getting a satisfactory mouthful, don't you, Mr. Plaisted?" But Mr. Plaisted laid down his knife and fork, and returned her look with interest.

"I fear you are not making a dinner at all, Mr. Plaisted," Mrs. Sherwood put in. "You do not seem to care for shad."

"No! I detest them, though I was not aware of the fact till to-day," he replied.

"They are not cooked to your liking, I fear! I wish, Dexie, you had looked after them a little better. How do you prefer your shad cooked, Mr. Plaisted?" she added, in a concerned voice.

"I do not care for shad in any shape or form," he said, rather shortly, which caused everyone to look up in dismay, all except Dexie, and she seemed intent on finding the minutest bone.

"I am very sorry! You should have spoken about it sooner. Eliza, remove Mr. Plaisted's plate. I hope we have something else you can relish."

He made a show at eating what was set before him, but it was hard work. Could his entertainers talk of nothing else but shad? It appeared not, for when the conversation seemed about to turn to other things a skilfully put question, or a bit of information, brought the fish back to be discussed in another light; consequently, the shad question was pretty well sifted. The method of catching them, the amount caught during the last season, the catch of the previous year compared with other years; in fact, Dexie seemed to have the fishing reports at her finger-ends, or at the end of her tongue, to speak literally, and Mr. Sherwood seemed delighted with the chance to air the knowledge he possessed to such an attentive listener. But Mr. Plaisted's thoughts were elsewhere; he was repeating to himself the lines he had no power to forget, and when dinner was over he was almost a mental wreck.

Dexie was exulting in his misery, and was longing to let him know she was the author of it.

When they entered the parlor, Mr. Sherwood turned to Dexie, saying: "Give us some music, Dexie; something to cheer us up and drive away the blues," and he nodded at Plaisted, who had thrown himself into a chair.

But seated at the piano, Dexie still kept up the torture of the dinner table by selecting songs that suggested fishing, or fishermen's daughters, until Plaisted rose and walked the floor in ill-concealed distress.

Feeling the crisis near at hand, she tried to think of something that would "cap the climax," but as nothing occurred to her, she added a verse impromptu to what she was singing:

"Oh! father dear, I've caught a fish; I'm sure it is a shad; Pray help me take him off the hook; you see he's hurt so bad!"

This was too much for Plaisted. Taking a sudden turn he faced his tormentor, but she heeded not his angry looks.

"I tell you what, Sherwood!" and he wheeled around angrily, "if I had a daughter who would play such stuff as that, I'd—I'd smash the piano to atoms!" and he brought his fist down on the table with a crash.

"What do you mean, sir!" and Mr. Sherwood was on his feet in a moment. "Your words and actions are insulting!" By this time Dexie was by her father's side, ready to give the finishing stroke to her enemy, and gently pressing her father's arm, said:

"Let me settle this affair, papa. I think, Mr. Plaisted, we can cry quits from to-day. You have found great delight in calling me 'Dexter.' I hope you are equally delighted to hear your own name repeated in its most obnoxious form. I find there is nothing more effective for a man of your stamp than to treat him as he delights to treat others. It is through my exertions that you have enjoyed yourself so much to-day, and if you ever wish to have the pleasure repeated, just call me 'Dexter,' and I'll do my best to repeat the entertainment."

Everyone looked at Dexie in surprise, and fearing that Plaisted might still have doubts as to her meaning, she swept him an elaborate courtesy, as she said:

"Good-bye, my dear Shadrach! don't forget in the future that 'I hold the whip-handle, dear Shadrach, my Shad!'" and before the family realized what this scene meant, Dexie had left the room and her voice was heard in the hall singing:

"Farewell to thee, oh Shadrach! my dearest Shad, adieu; But Dexter has hereafter the upper hand of you."

Plaisted was about to spring after her when Mr. Sherwood caught his arm.

"What does all this mean, Plaisted? Explain yourself, sir!"

"It means that I am the victim of the most diabolical practical joke that was ever perpetrated on an individual, and it appears that Miss Dexie is at the bottom of it, though you have all assisted her in carrying it out."

"If there is any joke afloat I am entirely ignorant of it, Plaisted, I assure you," said Mr. Sherwood. "I see that something is amiss, but I have no idea what it is, though apparently Dexie is not so innocent."

"Let me explain," cried Mr. Plaisted. "Miss Dexie has, in some way, found out what my second name is, and that it is as hateful to me as 'Dexter' is to her, and she has made it the subject of a very cruel joke. As I supposed that nobody knew my full name, you can judge of my surprise when I received this from the office," and he held forth the valentine.

"Oh! that's only a valentine, Plaisted. You surely did not allow such a little thing to disturb you?" said Mr. Sherwood.

"But see what the envelope contains," he urged, bringing out the bedecked fish.

But if he expected any sympathy, he was disappointed, for when Mr. Sherwood's eyes rested on the figure and read the lines beneath, shout after shout of laughter rang through the room, and when Gussie stepped over to see what the paper contained her shrill laughter joined the chorus.

"Well, it serves you just right, Mr. Plaisted," said she. "I told you she would make you repent it if you used her name so freely. But I wonder how she found out your name? Could she have been in the back parlor while we were talking?"

"I believe she was!" Plaisted replied. "But the shad for dinner? Need you have added that? The valentine was punishment enough!"

Another shout of laughter from Mr. Sherwood, and Gussie's perplexed looks gave place to an amused smile.

"Dexie planned it herself! Ha! ha! ha! I see it all!" and Mr. Sherwood roared again. "She marked this out as a day of punishment for you, Plaisted, and she has carried it out pretty well! Ha! ha! It was she herself who told me to ask you to dinner, saying she had everything ready for you, and was going to 'heap coals of fire' on your head because you had been treating her badly. Ha! ha! Guess you are pretty well scorched, sure enough!" and he leaned back in his chair and wiped his hot face.

"Yes, she has scorched me! Those verses are burnt into my memory and repeat themselves in spite of me. But you seemed to have studied up the whole business of shad-fishing just for the occasion."

"But, on my honor, Plaisted, I was entirely ignorant that my talk was annoying you. Come to think of it, Dexie herself kept me at it. How she must have enjoyed it!" and he laughed again. "I thought it strange that she ordered shad for dinner," said Mrs. Sherwood. "Yet she actually asked me to scold her before you all if they were not cooked satisfactorily."

"You will not have a chance to call her 'Dexter' again," said Gussie, "unless you want to be addressed as Shadrach or Shad. Whichever you dislike the most, you will be sure to get. Now I understand what she meant when she asked me before dinner if I would praise the shad," and she joined her father's laugh; it was so contagious.

"Well, I will be compelled to cry quits, sure enough," said Plaisted; "but I never suspected that she could make such comical verses."

"Oh! that is second-hand poetry, Plaisted. She has been misquoting the 'Widow Bedott' for your benefit," said Mr. Sherwood.

"And who is the 'Widow Bedott'?"

"She is a character in a most amusing book. Let me advise you to take her as a travelling companion with you to-morrow. After you have read about her Shadrach, the poetry won't trouble you as being too personal."

A short time later Mr. Plaisted left the house, but his day's experience still rankled, and he could truthfully say it was the most unpleasant day he had ever spent. He mentally resolved that should he ever spend another hour in the society of Dexie Sherwood he would treat her with the greatest respect, for his day's punishment would be a lasting reminder of her power of retaliation.



CHAPTER XXXVI.

Among the many social gatherings which the "Sherwood twins" attended were the weekly meetings of the Temperance and Benevolent Society, or the "T. and B.," as it was usually styled.

This society included among its members most of the young people connected with the best families in the town.

It was not so aggressive in the temperance cause as some of the other existing societies, but it had its place, as its ever-increasing membership clearly showed. It accepted no one as a member who had at any time been addicted to the use of liquor, and it kept many young men from falling into the pernicious habit of using intoxicants.

Among the number who had lately signed their names to the constitution of the society was Guy Traverse, the young manager of a large furniture establishment in the town. He had but recently been appointed to the position, but his pleasant, affable manners won him friends from all quarters.

He was quite an acquisition to the T. and B. Society: a fine reader, a good declaimer, witty and quick at repartee, the Social Committee of the society soon learned his value, and a smile of welcome greeted him wherever he made his appearance.

Being on the Social Committee, Dexie Sherwood was frequently thrown into his society, but by some mistake or unintentional oversight they had never been introduced, and there was something in Dexie's manner that forbade him to make any advances without this formal introduction.

As it was taken for granted that all the members had been duly presented to each other, no one gave the matter a thought, and though the committee held several meetings, at which both were present, no one noticed the fact that these two were the only ones who did not exchange ideas on the matters before them.

One evening after the usual business matters were disposed of, the society proceeded to elect new officers for the ensuing quarter, and Guy Traverse's popularity was sufficient to place him in the highest office in the gift of the society. When asked if he would like to name his own assistant, he turned to the speaker and smilingly replied:

"I would be happy to have the assistance of the society's organist, but as we have not yet been introduced, perhaps she would prefer that I did not give her name."

"What! do you mean to say that you have never been presented to Miss Sherwood! How did that happen? Come with me at once." There was much merriment over the long delayed introduction, and Dexie smilingly consented to accept the office of assistant, in addition to that of organist. This gave Guy Traverse the chance he had long been looking for, and at the close of the meeting he offered himself as her escort home.

This Dexie politely declined, adding in her kindest tone,

"Our house is just at the corner, Mr. Traverse, so I will not trouble you," and she slipped away.

The distance was short, for as Guy stood at the outer entrance of the T. and B. rooms he could hear the front gate shut after her, yet he would have enjoyed even that short walk with his fair assistant.

"She is not inclined to be friendly, it seems," he soliloquized, as he stroked his long silken moustache. "I must find out the reason."

The next time opportunity offered he again asked permission to escort her home, but again his offer was so pleasantly declined that he could not feel offended, though it put him upon his mettle. He determined to overcome her prejudice, or whatever it was that made her treat him with so much reserve. As he turned to go home, Gussie came down the steps, and with his hand to his hat he said, smilingly,

"I almost fear to risk a second refusal to-night, Miss Sherwood, but will you accept the escort that your sister has declined?"

It was a blow to her pride that Dexie had been asked first, but such an eligible young man could not be snubbed on that account, so Gussie smiled her sweetest as she walked by his side.

"Have I done anything to displease your sister?" he asked, as they stood a few moments at the gate. "I find her very hard to get acquainted with, though I can readily see that it is not her nature to be unfriendly."

"You have not offended her, of that I am sure," Gussie replied.

"Then you think she had no particular reason for refusing my company to-night?"

"She may have some objection to any company, but not yours in particular." "Has someone else a prior claim?" he smilingly asked. "Believe me, Miss Sherwood," he added, in an apologetic tone, "I am not asking out of curiosity alone."

Gussie believed there was someone else, for Dexie had a gentleman correspondent.

"Then she is engaged, I suppose, but if the fortunate man is absent she might allow others the pleasure of her company occasionally."

But the opportunity of meeting Dexie at his own pleasure came with an introduction to Mr. Sherwood, and on learning that Mr. Traverse was a good hand at chess (Mr. Sherwood's one weakness) he was made right welcome and became a frequent visitor.

Mr. Sherwood's residence was so centrally situated that the young people of both sexes found it very convenient to drop in for a few minutes on their way up or down town. Mr. Sherwood loved to see the rooms filled with laughing faces, and encouraged this free-and-easy intercourse, and he looked forward to the evening's pleasure with the ardor of a young man. When Guy Traverse made his appearance he was sure of a hearty greeting, and the weeks flew by very pleasantly until summer was ushered in, and still there was little seeming difference in Dexie's attitude toward her father's friend.

One evening as a number of young ladies were assembled in the pleasant rooms of the T. and B. Society, discussing a coming convention, the society's Vice-President, Miss Edith Wolcott, said in decided tones:

"Before this convention meets, we ought to make some new badges; these are positively disgraceful! Will someone suggest something, or must I take the responsibility of seeing that this society has decent and respectable tokens of membership?"

"There can be but one opinion where the badges are concerned," said Ada Chester, smiling, "so let us draw from the funds of the society sufficient money to purchase the material for new ones, then we can meet somewhere and make them up."

"Capital legislation! Now announce the place of meeting and the matter is settled," and Frank Fenerty joined the group around the table. "Better set the time and place of meeting without delay, for when you ladies begin to realize the amount of work which the making of these badges involves, you will each and all remember that you have a pressing engagement somewhere else."

"That's so," said George Linton, as he drew a chair beside his friend; "but where's Traverse? As President of this society he ought to take the ladies at their word, and set them to work before their ardor has time to cool."

"There is not a house in town so convenient for all as the Sherwoods," said Ada Chester; then turning to Gussie she asked:

"Could we go to your house to make up the badges, Miss Sherwood?"

"Certainly; that is, I think so. Dexie is the acting manager at home, so you had better consult with her," replied Gussie, pleasantly.

"Come here, Dexie," and Edith turned to where Dexie was evoking sweet music from the organ. "May we go to your house to make the badges?"

"That depends on what night you wish to come. If to-morrow evening is too soon to appoint for the meeting, you could come Saturday. You know I have to be at the church on Friday evening."

"To be sure! I forgot about the meeting, and there is to be choir practice afterwards, so I'm engaged for Friday evening as well. How shall we arrange it?" and Edith looked inquiringly around the group.

"Put it to vote," and Frank Fenerty rose to his feet. "Hands up now for to-morrow night at Miss Sherwood's—or not there at all, is that it?"

"No," Dexie laughingly replied; "our latch-string is out every night, but neither Gussie nor I would be at home Friday evening."

"What is to prevent us from accepting Miss Sherwood's invitation for Thursday. I would rather go there than any other place in town," said the truthful fellow, having long admired Gussie from afar.

"We have to buy the material before we can meet to make it up," Edith replied. "Great Scott! how much material do you want to buy anyhow," said Fenerty. "I could buy out a store while you ladies were selecting the ribbons for your neck."

While they were speaking, Mr. Traverse made his appearance, and learning the cause of the discussion, presented a cheque for the amount needed to renew the badges, and volunteered his services as "needle-threader" for the evening.

"Come now, Traverse, you can't thread needles for the crowd," said Fred Foster, "but if the ladies will only invite the male members, we will promise to keep them supplied with threaded needles, ad infinitum."

"Have you decided to come to our house Thursday? If so, all members of the T. and B. are invited, but we will keep you gentlemen up to your promise in regard to the needle-threading, so let no one imagine he can come and shirk his duty," and the group separated.

The next evening the parlor of the Sherwoods presented a busy scene. Several small tables placed about the room were surrounded by groups, whose nimble fingers cut and sewed the bunches of ribbon that were provided; and as there were several "needle-threaders" for every group, there seemed no reason why the work should not progress with the greatest of despatch. The ever-increasing pile of finished badges which appeared on the several tables gave evidence that their fingers were as nimble as their tongues, and amusement and work were intermingled.

Amidst the fun and merriment that was taking place in the room, Dexie's abstracted and absent-minded manner was not noticed, except by one pair of eyes—and very little that concerned Dexie Sherwood escaped the notice of Guy Traverse.

He was finding it hard to check the feelings with which he had long regarded her, for he had become attached to her from the very first, and his eyes were keen to note her varying moods. His frequent visits to the house gave him opportunity to study her character, and the more he saw of her, the higher grew his respect. A more tender feeling also was growing within his breast, that gave him secret pleasure, though he kept well in check any sign of its existence. He never had found the opportunity of asking the truth of her engagement; but being assured that she had a gentleman correspondent, he felt he had little cause to hope. He had been present on more than one occasion when Dexie had discussed with the rest of the family various extracts from letters which had come from over the sea. To be sure, these extracts were mostly descriptions of places that the writer had visited, or accounts of amusing episodes met with while travelling; but there lingered an undefined impression on Guy Traverse's mind that these letters were not so sacred as one would naturally suppose they should be if the writer were dear to the heart of the recipient.

"Something is troubling Dexie to-night," he said to himself, as he noticed how unusually silent and preoccupied she remained, even when the merriment seemed at its height. "I must be on the alert and see that she is not troubled unnecessarily," for being a frequent visitor, he was aware that Gussie was not always the pleasant person she appeared to be, and he, somehow, connected her with Dexie's present mood.

But in this case he was mistaken. The evening mail had brought Dexie a letter from Hugh McNeil. She had heard so little of him for some time that she began to hope (when she thought of him at all) that he had forgotten her or had found other attractions that had effaced her from his memory. But this unlooked-for letter told a different story, and his half-expressed determination to seek her presence and renew his suit filled her with dismay.

She had thrust the letter hastily into her pocket with but a rapid glance at its contents, just as her numerous guests were ushered in; and her time had been so engrossed that the letter itself was forgotten, though the memory of the eager, passionate words therein was bringing up all the unpleasant scenes that had happened in Halifax in connection with Hugh.

During the evening she had, with the help of the cook, set out a dainty repast in the dining-room, and as she made her way into the parlor again to invite the guests to come and partake of it, she wondered at the sound that reached her ears, for instead of the hum of many voices one voice alone was heard, and that was Gussie's.

Now, for some time back the frequent visits of Guy Traverse had aroused suspicions in Gussie's mind. They certainly were not always intended for her father, and he never offered himself as her escort unless Dexie was in her company. She had repeatedly hinted that Dexie was "already spoken for," but the hint was not acted on in the way Gussie expected. Remembering all this, Gussie's conduct this particular evening is seen in its true light, but it brought its own punishment.

In some unaccountable way, Hugh's letter had dropped from Dexie's pocket while she sat sewing at the badges with the rest, and in searching for a spool of thread, it fell into Gussie's hands. She glanced over the letter, but did not notice the signature. Hugh had been thinking more of touching Dexie's heart than of giving his letter the usual appearance, and had left place, date and all tell-tale marks to find room at the bottom of the closely-written sheet. Gussie guessed at once it was Dexie's letter, and thought it would be "fun" to read it before those assembled; it would let Guy Traverse know that he was wasting his time over Dexie. No one in the room had the least idea what she meant when she rose from her chair and said:

"Oh! friends, listen! here is a specimen of true love for you!"

"My dearest love, my heart's one treasure:

"It is no longer any use to try and put you out of my heart. I have tried to do it as you wished, but I cannot. I love you, my darling, and my love will not die, try as I may to kill it. You thought I could forget you if I went among fresh scenes and new faces; but it is not so—your dear face is ever before me. Sleeping or waking, it is the same. I cannot live without you, my dearest—"

"Augusta! Augusta! what are you doing? Is that your own letter you are making public?"

The words cut the air like a flash of steel.

That word "Augusta" was reproof in itself, and Gussie felt it instantly, and she shivered as she looked up and met the flashing eyes of her sister.

"No," she replied, her cheeks aflame, but angry spite dies hard, and she smiled scornfully, as she added, "I was amusing the company with a specimen of love-making that is rare outside of novels. It is your letter, I believe."

Before Dexie could reply, Guy Traverse had risen to his feet, and coming towards the table so that his form partly shielded Dexie from view, said:

"If you have read all you wish of my letter, Miss Gussie, I beg you will return it to me," and he took it from her hand and thrust it into his breast-pocket; then turning a woeful face to the astonished guests, he said:

"Friends, have mercy on a fellow when he is down, and forget what you heard just now. It was too bad of you, Miss Gussie, to expose a poor fellow's feelings in that way. I ought to have posted my broken-hearted appeal before I came in here, but I thought I might be able to think of some stronger language that would touch the hard heart of my lady-love. I am not in luck, as you can guess; but do not, I beg of you, let it go any farther. I appeal to you, as members of T. and B., to keep this matter quiet and not let it be talked about. Boys, you know how it is yourselves," and in seeming embarrassment he turned to the window and remained in the shadow of the curtain.

"Oh! I beg your pardon, Mr. Traverse," Gussie gasped out, properly ashamed for once. "I never imagined the letter was yours," and hiding her burning cheeks in her hands she hurriedly left the room and flew to her chamber, wondering how she could ever look those people again in the face.

Traverse had given Dexie time to recover herself, and in a steadier voice than she could have commanded a few moments before, she asked the friends to drop their work, and come into the next room for refreshments.

This was a welcome interruption to all; everyone felt glad to hide the uncomfortable feeling that Gussie's act had thrown over them, and merry groups formed in the dining-room as Dexie passed among them. The uncomfortable scene in the parlor was put out of sight, if not out of mind, and no one wondered that Guy Traverse did not make his appearance amongst them.

As soon as Dexie saw she would not be missed for a few moments, she ran up to Gussie's room.

"Come down at once, Gussie. You cannot stay away from our guests without making yourself look worse in their eyes. The sooner you make amends for your unpardonable act, the better it will be for yourself."

"Oh! Dexie, I was never so ashamed in my life! I never dreamt it was his letter; I thought it was yours."

"And what business would you have to read out anybody's letter to a company of people? I am glad to hear that you feel ashamed, for well you may! Come downstairs at once, unless you want everyone to cut you forever."

Gussie followed her sister into the dining-room, and she set about her duties as well as she could, but finding that Traverse was not in the room she soon felt more at ease.

Dexie felt that she must see Mr. Traverse before the rest entered the parlor. She had been so astonished at his bold claim of ownership that for a moment she could not understand it, but the truth flashed on her mind that he had done it to shield her, and she blessed him for it.

Guy looked round as the door opened, and coming forward he took the tray she carried in her hands and set it on a small table near, saying:

"Is this for both of us, Miss Dexie? Sit here," and he placed a screen to hide them from the gaze of intruders; then coming over to her side, drew the letter from his pocket, saying: "Forgive me, Miss Dexie, for claiming your property; it is yours, is it not?"

"Unfortunately, yes; and you were more than kind to shield me as you did," and she put the cause of the trouble in the deepest corner of her pocket. "I did not know what to do when I heard Gussie reading it aloud."

"I knew at once it was yours by the way you looked; but I thought I would play the vanquished lover, and crave your pardon for my audacity afterwards," and he looked intently into Dexie's flushed face.

"Believe me, Mr. Traverse, the writer of that letter is not the silly man one would expect, judging by his foolish words. In everything else he is worthy of respect."

"Do you think it foolish for a man to love a woman with such love as he speaks of in the letter?"

"Yes; when the man knows it is useless, he should try and forget her."

"He should try—hum!—well, it seems one does not always succeed in forgetting, even with much trying. Miss Dexie, you owe me a favor; tell me honestly how you stand with this lover from over the sea. Are you engaged to be married to him, yet give him cause to write in such a strain?"

"No, certainly not; I am aware that this letter has given you the impression that I have been corresponding with the writer, but it is not so. This is only the second time I have had a letter from him, though I believe papa hears from him occasionally; but I have never sent him a line."

"How does it happen that he writes to you so appealingly? Have you jilted him, Miss Dexie?" and he looked eagerly into her face, to read her answer. "Will you not tell me?" he added, as he waited some moments for her reply.

"There is very little to tell, Mr. Traverse. I think the part of the letter that you heard tells the story well enough," and she gave a quick look into his face, "but I think I understand what you mean. This is not the one that Gussie refers to so often."

"Miss Dexie, if I have spared your feelings to-night, spare mine now, and tell me what I ask: Is there more than one lover across the sea? Do tell me the truth, Miss Dexie."

His low, earnest tones thrilled her strangely, and she dropped her eyes, as she replied in a low tone:

"Let me first explain about the writer of the letter. I never gave him cause to write to me like that, for I have always disliked him. He has persecuted me shamefully, even so far as to threaten to shoot me if I did not promise to marry him, and the strongest wish that was ever born in my heart is that I may never see his face again." The words ended in a whisper, but so intense were the tones that Guy felt she told the truth, and he asked: "What sort of a young man is he, if I may ask?"

"If he had not made himself an object of dislike to me, I could give you a very favorable account of him," she answered, lifting her eyes an instant, then turning aside as she met his earnest looks. "He is well educated and very good-looking, if you admire the kind of beauty that goes with olive skin, eyes like midnight, and hair to correspond. He has a good bank account also, and would be a good match—for someone else," she added, laughing softly.

"Did your father favor his suit, that they correspond yet?"

"Oh! yes; and everything was arranged, settlements, and all. Nothing was lacking—except my consent."

"Then there was never a promise between you? Forgive me, Miss Dexie, if I seem inquisitive, but I wish very much to know."

"Nothing like a promise! indeed, nothing could be so distasteful as the thought of such a thing; not even from the first. I never liked him."

"But there is someone else, Miss Dexie. Is there not a promise given to someone else?" came the eager tones.

"Not exactly a promise, Mr. Traverse; but there is a mutual understanding that may lead to one. I think you would like my friend, particularly if you heard him once at the piano," she replied, as her cheeks grew pink.

"Then you are not really engaged, Miss Dexie?"

"Now, Mr. Traverse, I think I have told you enough," she replied, beginning to feel embarrassed. "Some things are not easy to tell, even though one may not care if the facts are known."

"But I have not got down to facts yet, Miss Dexie, and I should like to know the truth. 'For favors received, be truly grateful.' I think it is only fair to let me know how matters stand with you and this lover over the sea."

He waited a moment for her answer, then added, in an eager tone:

"Your sister told me several times about your engagement to this young gentleman that writes to you from England. If it is so, why deny it?"

"There is a promise between us to wait a year," came the low-spoken reply. "Then, if we are both of the same mind as when we saw each other last, I expect I shall spend the rest of my days in Halifax; but a year is a long time, and much may happen before then."

What strange power was there in his looks or words that drew this admission from her? She regretted the words the moment after she uttered them, but she did not know that she had removed the barrier that kept Guy from trying to win her himself.

"Do you think he may learn to care for someone else, or that you—"

"I have never met anyone yet that I like better," and she lifted her eyes to his as she said this, but she dropped them at once, and a strange, uneasy feeling possessed her that she could not understand.

"Thank you, Miss Dexie, for your confidence. Now, let the understanding be mutual. Will you give me the privilege you have so long denied me of being your friend and protector pro tem., as it were? Neither you nor I have anyone here to claim our society, and I get very tired of my own company; I would like to have one special lady friend. Will you not hereafter accept my company without that inward protest which I always feel you have for me?"

"You are very kind, Mr. Traverse, but I would prefer matters as they are. I do not mind going about alone in the least."

"Oh! I know that, Miss Independence, but I mind it; so say that I may occupy the place of the absent friend, to some extent at least. I'll write to him and demand permission, if you object," and he laughed pleasantly as he took her hand a moment in his own.

Just then the sound of footsteps warned them that their interview was over, and Guy rose to his feet and stood by the window as the rest entered the room.

"Hello, Traverse! we missed you in the supper-room," and Fenerty came over to his side. "Have you found all your persuasions in vain, Miss Dexie?" pointing to the untasted repast on the tray.

"Man alive! do you think a man's appetite can survive everything?" said Traverse, with a frown.

"Forgive me, Traverse! I did not mean to add to your feelings. I don't wonder you feel cut up," said Fenerty, whispering his apologies.

"Mr. Fenerty, take him out in the dining-room. My presence has prevented him from partaking of the refreshments I brought him. Try and make him forget the unpleasantness that has occurred," and Dexie looked up with a smile at Traverse, as he followed his friend from the room, and then turned to her other guests.

She was glad to see that Gussie was doing all she could to win her way back into favor, for she passed from group to group with a pleasant word and a smile for all. Fingers and needles were soon busy again, and the unfinished badges were attacked with renewed vigor.

"That was a nasty trick of Miss Gussie's, Traverse," young Fenerty was saying, as he waited upon his friend in the dining-room, "but I am sure she never suspected that the letter belonged to you."

"What difference did that make? The act was unpardonable when she knew it was not her own property. I suppose I will never hear the last of it."

"'Pon honor, Traverse, I hope you do not think any of us are mean enough to refer to the matter again. But come away to the rest, if you are through; they are at work again, I believe."

"It is all right, Miss Dexie," nodding to her as she appeared in the door. "He will soon get over it. Is there any objection to a little carpet dance to finish the evening? That will make Traverse forget to be melancholy if anything will," he added, in a low voice.

"Very well; as soon as they finish the badges you can help clear the room."

Dexie cast a backward look at Traverse and saw his amused smile, and it was hard to control her features when his face assumed such a mournful expression directly Fenerty addressed him.

Half an hour later, tables and chairs were set aside, and the sound that came forth from the piano, at Dexie's bidding, set agoing the feet of the dancers. She had played through several dances when Guy came up to her side with Ada Chester.

"I have brought someone to take your place, Miss Dexie. Play a waltz for us, Miss Chester," and Guy took Dexie from her seat.

The couple made the circuit of the room several times before anyone joined them; it was a pleasure to watch the well-matched pair swaying to the delightful music.

"We seem to have the floor to ourselves," Dexie said with a smile.

"If they knew the bliss of a perfect waltz, we would be crowded out, Miss Dexie. I begin to think I never waltzed before; your step is perfect—what, you are not tired?" as Dexie stopped and led the way back to the piano.

"No, but I will relieve Miss Chester; she is very fond of dancing."

Dexie did not care to confess how much she had enjoyed the little dance, but she was beginning to think that there was some strange spell in the voice and manner of her partner that drew her very thoughts from her. She must get away from his presence, so turned to Miss Chester, saying:

"I can recommend Mr. Traverse as a superb waltzer, Ada, so let me give you the pleasure of a few turns around the room with him to the same music. Mr. Traverse, do let Miss Chester know for once what waltzing really is," and she struck the keys and sent them floating from her side.

The evening's pleasure closed all too quickly, and as the last good-byes were spoken Guy lingered to whisper:

"I shall call and take you to choir practice in good season, so do not run away before I come for you. Good-night, Miss Dexie."

The warm clasp of the hand, and the earnest look in his dark grey eyes, lingered in Dexie's memory until sleep had put all thoughts aside and mixed the real with the unreal in troubled dreams.



CHAPTER XXXVII.

One bright summer morning, while the dew still glistened like diamonds on grass blades and flower petals, Dexie and her father were to be seen walking quickly in the direction of the depot, and, on arriving there, were surprised to see Mr. Traverse waiting on the platform.

"What, Traverse, are you off this morning too?" said Mr. Sherwood.

"Yes, I have business in Boston; some machinery to order. And you, Miss Dexie, are you going on a journey as well?"

"Oh, no; I have come to see papa safely on board the train, and to jog his memory about a few trifles I want him to bring me home from the Hub."

"Ha, ha; a few trifles, indeed! If you expect me to bring back half the things you have mentioned, you had better come along with me, for I've forgotten them already," her father laughingly replied.

"I thought that would be the way," Dexie replied with a smile, "but you will not get off so easily as you think. Here is my book, and the list is on the last pages, so you have no excuse to forget one of the articles, papa," and she slipped the little book inside his vest-pocket.

"Glad to have your company, Traverse. How long do you stay?"

"Well, I am not particular to a day or two. I expect to be ready to return on Friday."

"And this is Monday; well, we can arrange to return together, so, Dexie, you can make your mind easy. Your old dad will have someone to look after him both ways."

"That is very nice. Take good care of him, Mr. Traverse," and she gave him her hand as he said good-bye.

Her father bent his head and kissed her, saying playfully:

"Now, don't run off with the gardener, or do any other dreadful thing while I am gone, and I will try and get your commissions filled, even to the box of chocolates."

They stepped on the cars, and with the usual ear-splitting shriek the train moved away, leaving Dexie on the platform looking after them. The two men stood at the rear door and waved a farewell, and Dexie returned home, never thinking that she had seen her father well and strong for the last time.

Mr. Sherwood had not been away from home since they had moved to Lennoxville, and Dexie planned to have a dainty repast awaiting his return, and she was in the kitchen when a telegraph messenger appeared at the door.

"A telegram for Mrs. Sherwood, and one for Miss Dexie Sherwood."

Dexie tore hers open, and her heart seemed to stop beating as she read:

"There has been an accident, and your father is hurt, but not fatally. He cannot be moved at present. Can you come at once?

"GUY TRAVERSE."

Dexie rushed up the stairs, her white face telling of trouble, and as soon as her mother saw her she asked in alarm:

"What is it, Dexie? What has happened?"

"Dear mamma, come back into the room, and I will tell you. There has been an accident, and papa is hurt. Oh, mamma, do not scream so! No, he is not killed; do not say it. Oh, hush! let me open your message. Mine is from Mr. Traverse, and he says papa is hurt and cannot be moved. Oh, mamma! do not scream so. You will terrify the children and make yourself ill."

"Oh, he is dead! My husband is killed!" she cried. "Why has this dreadful calamity come upon me?" and she wrung her hands and wept aloud.

"Oh, mamma, you must stop! Listen: this is what your message says, and it is signed by a railroad official:

'There has been a collision, and your husband is injured. It is impossible to move him in his present condition, but everything possible shall be done for his comfort and relief.'"

"Oh, mamma! let us go to him at once."

"Dexie, do you want to kill me? I could not survive the journey in the present state of my nerves; and does not the message say that everything shall be done for him? What could I do more?"

Another peal of the bell, and Dexie flew down to the door, where a brass-buttoned youth presented himself.

"I am sent to say that there is a train starting for the scene of the collision in fifteen minutes. If there is anyone here going down, they will have to hurry."

Dexie rushed back to her mother's side.

"Oh, mamma, I must go to him! Can you go, too? Say quickly, mamma!"

"Oh, I shall die! I shall die!" and Mrs. Sherwood fell back on the sofa in violent hysterics.

This was answer enough, and Dexie rushed to her own room, calling loudly for Eliza.

Gussie ran up the stairs at that moment, saying wildly: "Oh, Dexie, is it true? Is papa hurt?"

"Yes, Gussie, and I am going to him. Run to mamma; I cannot delay a moment. Here, Eliza," as the frightened domestic appeared, "put those things into this travelling-bag while I tell you what you are to do. Papa is hurt, and I have barely time to catch the train. You must run for Mrs. Jarvis as soon as I am done with you, and tell her to come and stay with mamma; then hurry along for the doctor—he will give mamma something to quiet her. Tell Mrs. Jarvis I leave everything in her care till I return, and say that she must fix up the back parlor all ready for papa, in case he can be brought home. She will know what to do. Now, I must go. I am sure I can trust you to do your best, Eliza, till I get back. I do not know when that will be."

She arrived at the depot hot and breathless, but in time to take her place among the number who, with white, sad faces and tear-dimmed eyes, were on their way to claim the forms of loved ones, or to comfort and relieve those whose lives had been spared them. The first tears she shed were those that fell when she recognized Edith Wolcott and her brother among the passengers.

"Dexie, you here, and alone!" was Edith's greeting, and the answer was a flood of relief-giving tears.

"Papa is hurt," she sobbed, as Edith inquired why she was on the train.

"I am so sorry; but perhaps it is not as bad as you fear. We expected Aunt Eunice would arrive by that train. We do not know that she really was a passenger, but I could not rest at home till I knew the truth!" Edith exclaimed. "Mr. Traverse was to have returned to-day," she added. "Did you hear if he was hurt?"

Dexie did not know, but thought not, as he had sent her the message concerning her father.

They relapsed into silence, except when someone would voice the sentiments in the heart of each and say, with a sigh, "How slowly the train moves along!" Yet they were travelling very rapidly, and in due time they arrived at the scene of the wreck.

Such a spectacle Dexie had never seen. Cars were piled upon one another in a confused mass, and she wondered how anyone had escaped alive from the broken timbers that had formed the cars.

She seemed to know instinctively which way to turn in search of her father, but she had only made a few steps when she met Mr. Traverse looking for her.

"Do not be alarmed, Miss Dexie; I am not so bad as I look," he said, reassuringly, as Dexie started at the sight of his bandaged head and splintered arm. "I have an ugly scalp wound, and that makes the bandages necessary, and my broken arm is nothing. Now, be brave," he said, as they stopped before the door of the house where her father had been taken. "He has been suffering great pain and looks badly, and he will not be able to see you unless you are calm. The doctor is with him now. I will go and see if you can come in."

"Do not keep me waiting, Mr. Traverse. I will be quiet. Indeed, you can trust me," and she lifted a white face, full of entreaty, to his gaze.

"My brave little girl!" was Guy's inward comment. "It is just as well that she came alone, for no one else in the family has self-control enough to bear this."

In a few minutes Guy returned and conducted her to her father's side, and she bent over him and kissed his white face tenderly.

"Dear papa, I have come to stay with you. What can I do to help you?" and she laid her hand in his. "Mamma feels too badly to come just now, dear papa."

The quiet manner in which she removed her hat and cloak and then returned to the bedside to await the doctor's orders impressed the latter favorably, and with a few words of instruction to Mr. Traverse he departed to see his other waiting charges.

They were sad and anxious days that followed, for it was feared that Mr. Sherwood might not, after all, survive the shock; but Dexie never lost heart, and was rewarded, after many days, by hearing the welcome news that her father could safely be moved to his home.

Traverse had proved himself a helpful and faithful friend, and more than one broken-hearted person blessed him for his ready help and sympathy, for the accident had been attended with much loss of life and had spread mourning into many homes.

Dexie had written twice daily to her mother; but having once mentioned the fact that the few houses in the vicinity of the accident were filled with maimed and wounded who were too ill to be sent to their homes, Mrs. Sherwood considered it impossible for her to witness the sight, and Dexie advised her to stay at home. She was well aware that the distressing sights and sounds which were to be witnessed hourly in every house would have such an effect on her mother that her presence would be more hurtful than beneficial to her father in his present condition.

Dexie was very anxious to know if everything was in readiness for her father's arrival, and Mr. Traverse relieved her anxiety by offering to go to the house with the family doctor and make everything sure, and then return and accompany them home.

It was with a feeling of shame that she gave her last message to him as he was about to leave her.

"Will you be kind enough to tell Dr. Brown how necessary it will be for papa to come home to a quiet house; and if mamma is not able to bear the sight of his arrival, will he see that she is not at home just at the time? He will understand and can manage it, I am sure."

Traverse looked at her in surprise.

"Mamma is apt to be hysterical, and papa will be too tired with the journey to bear any unusual excitement. I dread the time of his arrival at the house more than I do the rest of the journey; but it must be managed quietly, somehow. It would take so little to set him back when he is so weak."

"It shall be managed quietly, Miss Dexie, so do not be anxious; I will see that your father has every chance," and he turned away, wondering at the care and tact that could see and overrule the want of thought in others, when age and experience should have given others the self-control that was so wonderful to see in a girl of her years.

Mr. Sherwood bore the journey much better than they expected, and they carried him to the room which, by Dexie's forethought, had been provided with everything that could add to his comfort. The house was quiet and still, and a good hour's rest fortified him for the visit that his wife must soon make to his room.

Mrs. Sherwood had been persuaded into taking a drive with the doctor's wife about the time the train was expected, and she had been kept away long enough for Mr. Sherwood to rally from the fatigue of the journey. Gussie, with the rest of the family, had witnessed his arrival from an upper window, and wept sorely at seeing her father carried into the house on a bed, remembering how well and strong he had walked out of it a few short weeks before.

When Mrs. Sherwood arrived, and found that her husband had been brought home in her absence, she felt very much hurt, and she entered the room subdued and quiet; but when she beheld the change that had taken place in her strong, robust husband since she had last seen him, nothing but the doctor's presence prevented her from throwing herself across the bed. She dropped to her knees by the bedside, with a wail of despair, and Gussie's sobs were added to the moans that came from the lips of the kneeling wife. Dexie bent over her sister, saying firmly:

"You must either control yourself or leave the room. Can't you see how it distresses papa?"

Guy Traverse led the sobbing girl out of the room at last, and his kind words of comfort did much to help Gussie overcome her violent grief. He was fast recovering from his own wounds, and he made himself very useful in spite of his one-armed condition—for he still wore his broken arm in a sling. Dexie was not blind to the excellent traits of character he had displayed during the trying weeks past, but when she endeavored to express her thanks he stopped her with a word.

Weeks passed, and Mr. Sherwood's progress was so slow as to damp all hopes as to his ultimate recovery.

"I must know the truth," he said one morning, when the doctor made his usual visit; "it is no kindness to keep me in ignorance of my true condition. If I am not likely to rise from this bed a well man, then it is time I settled my business; so tell me what you think, Dr. Brown."

But it is not easy to get a doctor's opinion, and at last it was decided to send for the famous Dr. Jacobs, and have a consultation.

"Well, have the consultation as soon as possible, for this uncertainty is harder to bear than the knowledge of a speedy death," said Mr. Sherwood.

Oh, the agony of that hour, when Dexie waited, with the rest of the family, the verdict of the assembled doctors. As she knelt by her bed, her face buried in the pillows, she felt as if the worst could not be much harder to bear than this dreadful suspense. She dreaded the sound that would summon her to her father's bedside, yet, when it came, she rose to obey with a firm step, though the white face, from which her eyes shone almost black in their intensity, was proof of the anxiety that filled her heart.

"My dear little girl," and her father pressed the hand she laid in his, "it is not so bad as we feared, after all. Dr. Brown, will you go and tell my wife? Dexie, do you think you will get tired waiting on me if I have to lie here a few more months?"

"Oh, papa!" She could not restrain the tears that sprang to her eyes, so she laid her head on the pillow beside him until she could lift a quiet face.

"Don't fret, Dexie, dear!" and he fondly stroked the head so near him.

"I am likely to live for months, and you are such a capital little nurse that it will not be such a hardship to spend the rest of my life on my back."

Yes, that was the verdict. Mr. Sherwood could never hope to walk again or be a well man; but he would probably live for some time, his splendid constitution being in his favor.

This was hard news for the family; but they had feared the worst, and so felt thankful for the extended time that might intervene before the end would come.

Mrs. Sherwood engaged the assistance of Mrs. Jarvis, an excellent nurse, to attend on her husband; and as Dexie shared the nursing and relieved Mrs. Jarvis, Mrs. Sherwood considered she had done her duty well and faithfully. She did not feel strong enough to do very much of the laborious part of nursing, but she was willing to make her appearance in the sick-room when the patient was at his best. She had been present once when her husband had been seized with a paroxysm of pain, and was so terrified and overcome that she felt more than willing to leave her husband to the care of those who were "so hard-hearted that they could witness such suffering," and still be able to administer the necessary relief.

As the weeks passed by and Mr. Sherwood grew no worse, it seemed impossible to think that the "grim messenger" was really lurking in the shadow, for he bore his illness with such patience and cheerfulness that only those who were constantly about him realized how he really suffered.

Mr. Traverse was always a welcome visitor, for Mr. Sherwood could never forget that awful moment when death stared them both in the face, and how Traverse had kept the flying timbers from crashing into his pinioned body, receiving on his own head and arm the blows he might have escaped.

Dexie had listened with averted face and tear-dimmed eyes to the story as it fell from her father's lips, and she found it hard to meet her hero without betraying something of the feeling which his noble conduct had awakened in her heart.

His frequent visits were both a joy and a pain to her, though why she felt glad to hear his step, yet dreaded to meet his glance, she could not have explained.

Gussie was able now to meet Mr. Traverse without that feeling of mortification which she experienced after she had read his love-letter before her guests. His manner to her was as kind and respectful as ever, and she hoped he had almost forgotten the circumstance. How often that thoughtless act had been regretted no one knew but herself. There was no chance of adding his name to her list of admirers, for he kept her at a distance, even when his manner was most kind. She often wondered if his city girl, as she styled her, had yet relented, or if he had given up all hope of winning her. How he must have cared for her to write such a letter!

If she had learned the true facts of the case, and found out that the letter was really Dexie's, as she at first supposed, she would have put aside the fact that her conduct was none the less reprehensible, and would have used all her arts to win him to her side. As it was, she was more willing to sit by her father's side during the time Mr. Traverse was present than at any other time during the day.

One evening when Mr. Traverse was sitting by Mr. Sherwood's bedside, Gussie also being in the room, one of those sudden attacks that always came on without a moment's warning seized upon Mr. Sherwood, and Mr. Traverse was so alarmed that for a moment he lost his presence of mind; but Gussie's shrill screams, as she rushed out of the room, aroused him. Something should be done for the sufferer, he knew not what, and reaching for the bell-cord that hung over the head of the bed he gave it a hasty pull, and as he did so Dexie was beside him.

She took in the situation at a glance, her rapid movements relieving Mr. Traverse from the fear and apprehension that had seized him, and the means of relief were soon at hand.

"Raise his head on your arm a moment," she said, coming quickly to the bedside. "Not quite so much; there. I must get this into his mouth somehow. Thank you. Now, lay him down very carefully." A practical knowledge of what was required made her movements swift, though quiet, and she worked about him with a firm, steady hand. She was able to witness her father's agony and still keep her wits about her; but this was positive proof to her mother that Dexie had "no feelings."

Mr. Sherwood was soon able to look the thanks he could not express, and Dexie took a fan that lay near at hand and began, with a gentle motion, to fan her father's flushed face. Guy noticed for the first time that the tears were flowing down her cheeks, though she gave no sign of her distress, nor made any movement to wipe them away lest that act should betray them.

"Let me do that much, Dexie?" was the low, whispered words, as he took the fan from Dexie's fingers.

He drew a chair softly to the bedside, and kept up the gentle motion until Guy felt assured that the sufferer was asleep.

Dexie was kneeling by the bedside, intently watching her father's face through her tears, and she started when Guy laid his hand across her clasped palms, and whispered, "Come away, Dexie; he is sleeping."

She rose at his bidding, and he drew her to the window.

"This has been very hard on you, Dexie, and you have borne it bravely," he whispered softly, holding her trembling hands in his own. "Do not try to hide the tears from me. Am I not your friend?"

The touch of his hand and the tenderness of his voice touched a chord in Dexie's heart and sent a thrill through every nerve, and she raised her eyes to his for one brief moment; but in that short time she read a story that might have filled a volume, and no one could now say of her that "her heart had not yet awakened," for she knew the truth at last.

The appearance of Mrs. Jarvis at this moment was a welcome relief to Dexie, and giving a hasty account of her father's late attack she hurried from the room. She felt she must get away from everyone and face this new thing that had come upon her.

As she passed into the hall she found Guy Traverse waiting for her.

"May I ask for a few minutes, Miss Dexie?" he asked, in a low voice. "I have something I would like to say to you to-night."

"Please excuse me to-night, Mr. Traverse," she replied, without lifting her eyes. "I do not feel able to see anyone just now."

"Some other time, Dexie, then. Good-night," and he held her hand one moment in his, and turned to leave the house.

He did not seem particularly pleased to find Gussie waiting at the parlor door for him; but he intended to pass on and go home.

"Oh! Mr. Traverse you are not going home so soon, surely!" she cried. "I wanted your opinion of a new book that was sent to me to-day. Is papa not better?" seeing the altered expression on his face.

"Yes, he is better now, I believe, but you must excuse me to-night, Miss Sherwood; your book must wait for some future time. Good evening," and the door closed softly behind him.

As Guy turned the corner of the house, intending to take a short cut to his hotel through the back garden, there issued from an open window such music as Guy had never heard before—so soft, so sad, yet so exquisitely sweet that he stopped for a moment to listen. He had often listened to Dexie's playing; but he never had heard her play a piece like that, and he drew nearer the window.

He could see her through the thin curtain that hid him from view; and as he stood and watched her, he wondered what it was that had the power to call up such an expression to her face. But as he looked the music suddenly ceased, and Dexie's face was buried in her hands, and he could hear the sobs that shook her frame. He longed to speak to her, yet dared not. He knew he had no right even to witness her emotion, and he turned silently and sadly away. Could he have been mistaken, after all? That one brief moment when Dexie had looked into his eyes he felt sure of her love, and his heart had throbbed with joy; and but for that interruption he might even now be holding her against his breast, while he poured into her ears the story of his love.

But her tears and grief seemed a denial of his hopes. Had thoughts of her absent lover given her that glorified look on which he had based his hopes?

If Guy Traverse had been permitted to read a part of the letter which Dexie penned that evening before retiring, he would not have waited so long before testing the value of his hopes, for he would have guessed the meaning of the words sent to "the lover over the sea."

"I have thought several times lately that you are not so open and frank with me as you used to be. Are you keeping something from me, Lancy? I wonder if you have found out the truth of the words I said to you in Halifax. Do not forget that it was to be 'honor bright' between us. I am beginning to hope that my surmises are correct, but I know it is hardly fair to force a confession from you that I shrink from making myself. It may be true that 'open confession is good for the soul,' but I find it is particularly mortifying to the body.

"But I have been talking to you through the piano to-night, Lancy, and I must set down in writing a little of what is in my mind, for I have to confess to you, Lancy, that I can no longer honestly keep the ring that has stood 'for a sign between me and thee.' Now, do not mistake me, dear Lancy. I have heard no word of love from any man's lips since I left you, but for all that I have met someone that will always stand between you and me, and I really have little to tell you, only that under the conditions I cannot keep the ring any longer. Will you release me from any promise I may have given you, and tell me truly if you are not pleased that I asked for the release? You must not think that I have ceased to care for you, for there are times, when I am at the piano, that I would give all I ever possessed to have you beside me, and I have missed you more than I can tell. I see now that more than one kind of love can find room in the heart at one and the same time. Now, Lancy, if I have made a mistake in thinking that you may have had the same experience as myself, and this confession of mine grieves you, I will keep my promise still, if you wish it. I shall look anxiously for your answer."

But if Guy Traverse had no knowledge of this letter he was present when Gussie held out the answer across the table, with the words:

"Here is an extra heavy letter from over the sea, Dexie, and that bold handwriting tells the identity of the writer at a glance, so there is no use to deny that it is from Lancy Gurney."

Guy saw no hope for him in the flushed face, and Dexie hurried from the room as soon as she had grasped the letter from Gussie's hand.

But Guy Traverse had no need to be so cast down, if he had only known it, for the letter said:

"I begin to fear that you are gifted with second-sight, and it is with shame I confess that I have not kept 'honor bright' with you. I was afraid you would not understand if I began to explain the matter, but your own confession has made it easier. I can hardly tell you what has happened, Dexie—it has all come about so suddenly that I hardly realize it myself; but I was thrown from a vicious horse while visiting at a country-seat, and was taken up insensible, and when I opened my eyes I found a sweet heart bending over me; but believe me, Dexie, I did not know it was so until her own lips confessed it, and she has become very dear to me since. But I have been in misery when I thought how you would despise me, and I feared your scorn. I shall always care for you, Dexie, as you care for me, and I am glad to know that the music still holds us together. I have a request to make, and if you will grant it I shall know that the admission in this letter has not wounded you. Do not send back the ring, but keep it and wear it occasionally. I have had a counterpart made of the little charm which I enclose in this, and I shall always keep it in memory of the happy hours we have spent together."

Dexie read this letter over a good many times before she laid it away under lock and key; but when she did so she took from its hiding-place the ring she had not looked at for months, and slipped it upon her finger.

"Yes, I will keep it and wear it, now that it means only friendship; of course he does not wish to have it back. I am so glad he has found someone else. He will never forget me, I am sure—I know that by my own feelings for him; but if he had kept me to my promise I—" but she finished the sentence in the innermost recesses of her heart.

Dexie's reply gave Lancy a feeling of relief. He must explain to his parents the change in his feelings, and he feared they would consider that he had wronged Dexie Sherwood; but her letters would prove the contrary, for did she not say:

"Your ring is on my finger as I write, and I never wore it with more willingness and pleasure than I do now, when it tells only of freedom and friendship. I have had those words engraved on the inside of the ring. Will you do the same with the token of friendship which you say you possess? I was sorry to hear you had taken the trouble to get one made after the same pattern, and I have a little scold all ready for you. Do not hide from your ladylove till after your marriage the little romance 'between me and thee.' Believe me, it will sound much better if told beforehand. I am pleased to hear that your prospects are so bright, but you did not tell me half enough about your pretty English lassie, or in what direction her talents lie, but I can well believe that I am far in the shade so far as music goes. I cannot tell you what you ask, Lancy, for my love has not been asked for in words; but I am very happy, and if my future holds nothing brighter than my present life, it will be well worth living, for the only shadow is the thought of poor papa's sufferings. And now, dear Lancy, good-bye. This is my last letter to you, but if we ever meet again I think you will find that I am the same old Dexie."

The letter had such a kind, honest ring to it that it quite relieved Lancy's mind, and he wondered what Dexie would say if she knew that his ladylove was only a passable singer, and had no talent for music at all. Truly, he had fallen in love with his opposite.



CHAPTER XXXVIII.

"I say, Traverse! I believe you are getting melancholy," said Mr. Fenerty, as, seated in Guy Traverse's office, he watched Guy bend over the papers on the desk before him, yet seeming to accomplish nothing.

Getting no response to his repeated sallies, he added:

"What's up! out with it! If that pile of papers is in a tangle, say the word, and I'll bring my mighty brain to bear on them, and set them in order for you in no time! No? Are the men going out on a strike, then? or is your great-grandma down with the measles? Then, for Heaven's sake, why such a doleful expression? It is enough to give one the blues to look at you!" and he re-crossed his legs and looked searchingly at his friend.

"That's all your nonsense, Fenerty! I'm all right! What's the news?" and Traverse leaned back in his chair as if to resign himself to the inevitable.

"News! he asks for news, when I have come here expecting to find him boiling over with anxiety to impart news to someone!" and Fenerty rolled up his eyes in astonishment. "However, now that I have looked at you, and seen the settled melancholy of those features, I am obliged to own that you do not look like a man to be congratulated."

"Why should I be congratulated, and for what? What joke are you struggling to get rid of, Fenerty?"

"'Pon honor, Traverse, I believe you are right! The congratulations are due in some other quarter, yet who is he?"

"I am as much in the dark as yourself, Fenerty. I own that I hoped to win her myself, and I feel the disappointment—keenly."

"Traverse, I hope you will not think me a meddling fool; but I would like to know if it is all up with the other one—she of the letter, I mean. You might tell a fellow that much."

Traverse looked at him keenly. He knew that Fenerty had a good heart, with all his bantering, and it was plain enough to all that his attentions to Dexie Sherwood could have but one significance. Yet there must be a feeling in the mind of Fenerty, as well as others, that in the light of that letter he was not "off with the old love before he was on with the new." Should he trust Fenerty with the secret of the letter, and have at least one friend who would not think him dishonorable in the matter?

"Fenerty, how are you at keeping secrets?" he said at last. "I never hear you parting with any, but whether that is owing to the fact that you have none to impart, or whether your secrets really are secrets, I am not able to guess. I would like to tell you about that letter. What are the prospects of it becoming public property?"

"'Pon honor, Traverse, you are a brute! Do you think I would speak of it to my bosom friend, if I had one? and Heaven knows I haven't! But I have often thought of your possible death from unrequited love. You must have been in a desperate way about the time that letter was written, hey, Traverse?"

"Fenerty, you are a great goose, and let me prove my words. But first, while I think of it, never offer yourself as a detective, for the requirements needed are not included in your make-up. Well, I never wrote that letter at all. Miss Gussie was right in thinking the letter was her sister's, but I guessed the truth before anyone had time to catch the horrified look that came into Miss Dexie's face as she heard her letter read out to the crowd. I felt I owed Miss Gussie one for the hateful trick, so claimed it as mine; and I piled on the agony pretty thick, if I remember rightly. How does that solution of the mystery strike you, Fenerty, hey?"

"Traverse, you are right!" and he fell over against the wall, as if the news had been too much for him. "You are right! 'Pon honor, but that was a bright trick of yours to claim that letter! I hope you appreciated the sympathy I expressed for you on that trying occasion. Ha! ha! But the fellow that wrote that letter had it pretty bad, eh, Traverse? By George! I'll bet a hat she has given in at last. That is where the ring came from!"

This referred to a little scene that had taken place in the T. and B. rooms.

Dexie had taken her place at the organ as usual, and in so doing had displayed a ring that was new to the eyes of those standing near. Dexie blushed painfully when attention was called to the ring by her teasing friends; but she would acknowledge nothing when they tried to draw the truth from her lips. When Guy Traverse joined the circle, to see what all the fun and laughter meant, Dexie rose to her feet and slipped away, unable to meet his eyes. But, with the knowledge he had of Dexie's affairs, he thought there could be only one explanation of the ring's appearance; her engagement to the lover over the sea must be a settled fact. But Guy's frequent visits to the Sherwoods made the rest believe there was an engagement between him and Dexie.

Dexie's ring aroused considerable discussion among her friends, and it only made it seem more complicated when Gussie declared to a friend that she believed "Dexie had that ring before she left Halifax, but never wore it."

But it was her sign of freedom, and its glitter and sparkle was like the light of her own eyes when they rested upon it. She was afraid that her secret, that sweet secret of her own, might be surprised from her. Not for worlds would she have that person know that her heart had awakened at last. With that ring on her finger, who could charge her with caring for anyone but the giver?

Guy Traverse thought he had every reason to feel sad and gloomy. How was it that he ever supposed she cared for him, for now she was as reserved and cool when in his society as she had before been frank and pleasant, and, of course, that ring was responsible for the change.

Gussie took the opportunity of relating to Guy, as well as to others, many an interesting story concerning Dexie and her Halifax lover, but she neglected to add that most of her stories were creations of her own brain. Guy felt little interest in these stories. He felt that there was something going on that he did not understand, but he intended to ask an explanation from Dexie at his first opportunity, feeling quite sure she would own the truth to him.

But the opportunity did not present itself readily, and even Mr. Sherwood felt the change and wondered what had come between Dexie and his friend. He tried to seek into the trouble, but could find no explanation of it.

Mr. Sherwood was able now to be lifted to a wheeled chair or couch, and as he could be gently wheeled from room to room, he found the change quite agreeable. The time did not seem so long as when he was confined within four walls.

There were times when Dexie thought her father might be spared for years instead of months, but when one of his attacks of pain seized him such hopes as suddenly sank away. His mind was more free from care, since his lawyer, Mr. Hackett, had brought his business matters to a satisfactory state; but his visits to the house were always times of trial. Mrs. Sherwood would listen to no explanations that would bring to her mind the thought of her husband's decease. But someone had to stand in the gap, and, as usual, it was Dexie; she it was to whom Mr. Hackett explained the many papers and the various transactions to which their contents related.

"What is the matter between you and Traverse, Dexie?" said Mr. Sherwood one day, as Dexie sat by his side, writing at his dictation. "Never mind about that story now; I have forgotten how I intended to end the matter. Tell me what has happened between you two."

"Indeed, papa, there is nothing. Mr. Traverse has probably something else to take up his attention, and he has been away to New York, I hear, so I daresay he is too busy to drop in as often as he used to do. Never mind him; it is a pity not to complete this story when it is so nearly finished. Let me read what I have written down, then perhaps you will remember what you were going to do with this singular young lady."

"Oh, no! Put the thing out of sight! I'm sick and tired of her already. I miss Traverse, Dexie, and if you have had a quarrel, make it up for my sake. He brings a world of sunshine with him when he comes."