descended away, away into bewildering depths. She held her breath as
she gazed like one suspended in mid-air.

"Too late! too late!" she murmured, as she lifted herself up. "Too
late!"

Her countenance was pale, even haggard. There was no color in her
lips--her eyes were leaden--her aspect like one who had been shocked
with the news of a great calamity.

Mrs. Loring, Jessie's aunt, had been informed by the servant of whom
she made inquiry, as to the identity of the gentleman who had called
that morning to see her niece--or at least as to the identity of one
of them. She did not make out by the servant's description the
personality of Mr. Hendrickson, but that of Mr. Dexter was clear
enough. She was also informed that the one whose name she could not
guess, made only a brief visit, and that Mr. Dexter remained long,
and was for most of the time in earnest conversation with Jessie.
Her hopes gave her conclusions a wide latitude. She doubted not that
the elegant, wealthy suitor was pressing a claim for the hand of her
niece.

"Will she be such a little fool as to throw this splendid chance
away?" she questioned with herself. "No--no;" was the answer.
"Jessie will not dare to do it! She is a strange girl in some
things, and wonderfully like her mother; but she will never refuse
Leon Dexter, if so lucky as to get an offer."

Mrs. Loring heard Mr. Dexter leave the house, and with expectation
on tip-toe, waited for Jessie to join her in the sitting-room. But