"Are you, then, so eager to lose sight of - of old associations?"

What she said I do not remember. Perhaps this whole dialogue does not seem worth remembering. I only know that when I came to talk of the separation about to come, I thought that she grew very sober; I thought I almost saw tears in her eyes. Never mind what I saw. I drew her trembling form closer to mine; and then I knew that we two must not part for ever.

Very happy I thought myself; very happy I doubtless was. The old world had become new to me. That homeward ride over the red path of the sunset waters was a track of Paradise. But let that pass. I am not to write a love story now.

It was after supper when Edith rejoined me on the piazza. There was no one present beside ourselves; and so, in the prettiest way imaginable, she slipped her little hand in mine as we stood there.

"Who do you think has come?" she said. "My brother."

I had often heard him mentioned, and I knew that he was expected to visit Centre Harbor sometime before the end of the summer; therefore I was not greatly surprised at the news.

"That will be very pleasant," I remarked cheerfully.

"And here he himself comes all in good time," she cried, releasing her hand from mine. "Mr. Bedford, my brother Edmund."

I looked up and saw him! Oh! I saw him! I turned pale, and staggered back against the railing, trembling in every limb. For it was the face I had seen on that never-to-be-forgotten night; the face of Stephen Maymore's murderer!

(To be continued.)