found extravagant, if not because of the noble character of the
sentiment itself, at least because our forefathers never condemned it,
and the world generally continues to favor such an alliance. Such was
the nature of the staunch friendship that existed between Henry Rayne
and Bob Edgeworth, a friendship that had only strengthened itself by
pledges and vows, as the youths shook hands in a fond farewell over the
threshold of their college home.

From the day on which Honor Edgeworth settled in her new home, life
began to assume its most indulgent phase. Everything around her met her
eye for the first time, no sorrowful associations hung in misty veils
over anything that entered into the charms of her new life. Nanette was
the only breathing, living testimony of the years that had gone, and the
home of her childhood that she had left forever. A few old books of
literature and of music, a few little trifling souvenirs from her dead
mother's jewel box, an inlaid mahogony writing-desk and a miniature
likeness of her proud handsome father, were all the visible reminders
she now held of the fair, sunny home, under the far foreign skies.

Mr Rayne resumed his duties immediately on his return, and lost no time
in propagating among his most intimate and influential friends, the
story of the odd legacy left him by a "distant relation." At first Mr.
Rayne feared greatly that Honor would find the days long and tedious,
while he was absent and unable to ferret out distraction for her, but he
grew resigned very soon when she assured him how much more to her taste
it was to have the quiet hours of the day to herself, and "in fact," she
said, "as the occasion presented itself, she would beg of Mr. Rayne not
to expect her to share in any amusement, at least for some time, for
besides the mourning she wore for her father, her knowledge of the
country and its customs was not yet sufficient to satisfy her with