there, and her manner seemed to say, "If you are educated and refined,
I can't forget that you were once my waiting-maid."

"Where is Mr. Browning?" asked Rosamond, and _Ben_ replied, "Oh, up in
his den having the shakes. He mopes there all the time. Can't you
break him of the blues?"

"I'll go and try," answered Rosamond, and she started up the stairs,
followed by Ben, whose mother called him back, bidding him, in a low
voice, "stay where he was, and not make a fool of himself."

She could trust her _brother_, but not her _son_, and she thus did the
former the greatest favor she could have done--she let him meet young
Rosamond Leyton alone. The evening was quite chilly for July, and, as,
since the receipt of Miss Porter's note, Mr. Browning had seemed
rather agueish, there was a fire burning in the grate, and it cast its
shadows upon him as he sat in his accustomed chair. His back was
toward the door, and he knew nothing of Rosamond's return until two,
soft, white hands were placed before his eyes, and a voice which tried
to be unnatural, said "Guess who I am."

"Rosamond--darling--have you come back to me again?" he exclaimed, and
starting up, he wound his arm about her, and looked into her face,
expecting, momentarily, to hear her say, "Yes, I know it all."

But Rosamond did not say so. She merely told him how glad she was to
be at home once more, in her delight forgetting that Marie Porter had
said she loved the man who held her closely to his side and smoothed
her wavy hair even while his heart throbbed painfully with memories of
the past and trembled for the future. He longed to speak of her room-