mother. I've only one choice left--WAR! Give my love to Rosamond, and
tell her I shall die like a hero. You needn't wear black, if you don't
want to. Good-by."

He turned the corner--he had started for the _war_--and mentally
resolving to follow him in the next train, Mrs. Van Vechten returned
to the house, and sought her brother.

"Ralph," she began, sternly, "have you talked of love to Rosamond?"

Mr. Browning had borne so much that nothing startled him now, and
returning her glance unflinchingly, he replied, "I have."

"How, then--is Marie dead?" the lady asked.

"Not to my knowledge--but hist," was the reply, as Mr. Browning nodded
toward the hall, where a rustling movement was heard.

It was the _new girl_, coming with a dust-pan and brush to remove the
fragments of the vase, though how she knew they were there, was a
question she alone could answer. For a single instant her dull, gray
eye shot a gleam of intelligence at the occupants of the room, and
then assuming her usual appearance, she did what she came to do, and
departed. When they were again alone, Mrs. Van Vechten demanded an
explanation of her brother, who gave it unhesitatingly. Cold-hearted
as she always seemed, Mrs. Van Vechten had some kind feelings left,
and, touched by her brother's tale of suffering, she gave him no word
of reproach, and even unbent herself to say that a brighter day might
come to him yet. Then she spoke of Ben, announcing her determination
of following him that night. To this plan Mr. Browning offered no