with laughter. But the next minute she was very grave.

"I came to speak to Mr. Raeburn about this evening," said Charles
Osmond. "Do you know if he has heard of a rumor that this Mr.
Randolph has hired a band of roughs to interrupt the meeting?"

Erica made an indignant exclamation.

"Perhaps that was what the telegram was about," she continued,
after a moment's thought. "We found it here when we came in.
Father said nothing, but went out very quickly to answer it. Oh!
Now we shall have a dreadful time of it, I suppose, and perhaps
he'll get hurt again. I did hope they had given up that sort of
thing."

She looked so troubled that Charles Osmond regretted he had said
anything, and hastened to assure her that what he had heard was the
merest rumor, and very possibly not true.

"I am afraid," she said, "it is too bad not to be true."

It struck Charles Osmond that that was about the saddest little
sentence he had ever heard.

Partly wishing to change the subject, party from real interest, he
made some remark about a lovely little picture, the only one in the
room; its frame was lighted up by the flickering blaze, and even in
the imperfect light he could see that the subject was treated in no
ordinary way. It was a little bit of the Thames far away from
London, with a bank of many-tinted trees on one side, and out