ROSY DREAMS.

The summer night had fallen softly at Rosemont, and all were asleep save the beautiful sisters in whose hearts burned the restless fire of love.

Precious was alone in her airy white room, with the fragrant breeze straying into her windows with the moonlight—the moonlight so clear and white that Precious could read by its silvery rays the letter Bruce Conway had given her clandestinely to-day.

It was from Lord Chester, and Precious had read it a dozen times before she retired and placed it beneath her pillow.

She lay there all lovely and restless in the moonlight, her whole being flooded with a shy, ecstatic rapture over her first love-letter. At last she lifted the golden head and slipped the little white hand under the pillow, and drew it out to read again.

Lord Chester had written impulsively:

"My darling little Precious, you remember that day, that night! I feared you hated me for my boldness, and I have not dared to venture near you since! But my heart urges me to write, for I am free now—Ethel has jilted me—and my irrepressible love for you is no longer a wrong to your sister. Ah, Precious, will you let me love you—will you love me in return? My heart is thrilling with a mad hope of success, for something tells me you will be mine! To-morrow evening I shall call on you to know my fate. Ah, love; love, love, be kind to me, for unless I win you for my worshiped bride the world will be a great dreary blank to me, and life not worth the living. Ah, Precious, the kiss I took that day when you lay senseless in my arms burns on my lips still. You were angry, and I could not blame you. Perhaps it only made it worse when I confessed that evening all my hopeless love for you. But I meant no wrong; I was leaving you forever! Ah, how changed is everything! I am glad Ethel found out she did not love me and broke our bonds of her own free will. Now she will not care for our love, now you will forgive me, now you will promise to be mine, will you not, my little darling?

Arthur."

The happy blue eyes wandered lovingly over the tender words, and then Precious kissed the letter and placed it again beneath the pillow. Then she started, as a shadow fell across the bed.

It was Ethel, tall and white and spirit-like, hovering over her in the flood of white moonlight.

"Sister!" cried Precious in surprise, then with a swift fear: "Oh, what has happened? Earle?"

"There is no bad news of Earle. Do not be frightened, dear," and Ethel knelt down by the white bed, crying shudderingly: "Oh, Precious, I am so unhappy I shall die unless I find some comfort!"

Her face was convulsed with pain. Some burning tears fell on the younger girl's cheek as Ethel leaned above her, sobbing wildly, her pallid face half-hidden by the long veil of dark, flowing tresses.

She felt white arms reach out and draw her close; warm lips kissed the burning tears from her cheeks.

"Ah, Ethel, I know, I understand, for I heard to-day," whispered Precious fondly. "You think he loves me best—papa, I mean. But, Ethel, no, it is not that. I will tell you how it is. He loves me because I have mamma's face—mamma whom he worships so tenderly. Ethel, do not let it grieve you. He loves you well, and I——"

"Hush, child, you madden me!" cried Ethel hoarsely. She was silent a moment, then resumed passionately:

"Precious, you pretend to love me, and now I will prove your love. All your life you have robbed me with those sunny blue eyes of the love that should have been mine. Do you wish to atone, to press all this jealous anger from my breast and make me happy again? Then I will tell you how. You know that I have lost my lover, that I discarded him rashly, unjustly, in pride and anger. He is too proud to sue for a reconciliation, yet I cannot live without him. It was jealous madness that made me throw him over, and now I repent my folly, I yearn to be reconciled to my darling."

Her burning hand clasped her sister's icy fingers.

"He loves me, I know he loves me, but he is too proud to come back to me unless I send for him. And I—oh, I am proud, too; I would fain be forgiven without the asking! Oh, what shall I do?"

There was no answer. Precious sat upright with her elbow on the pillow. It seemed to her that she could hear beneath it her lover's letter rustling like a live thing under her touch, like a human heart. Words failed her, she was speechless with a hovering despair.

Ethel flung back the heavy masses of her rich black hair from her pale, convulsed face, crying wildly:

"Don't let me frighten you, Precious, but I must confide in you or my heart will break. Oh, what a night of anguish I have spent! Not a moment have I slept, and all the while suffering anguish inconceivable in my bitter jealousy of another girl."

She saw the wild start that Precious gave, and continued:

"They tell me Arthur is calling on another girl—a dark-eyed beauty down in the village. It is only in pique, I know; but what if this Aura Stanley wins him from me? Hearts are often caught in the rebound, they say. Oh, Precious, how I should hate any girl that won Arthur's heart from me! I should hate her, and in my despair and jealousy I would be certain to commit suicide."

"Oh, sister, sister!" cried Precious, horrified; but Ethel persisted wildly:

"I should be sure to do it, for I could not lose my love and live. But I will not give him up. He is mine, mine, and he must forgive me and come back to me."

Precious saw the great dark eyes flash luridly, and shuddered with the consciousness of the love-letter under her pillow.

"You can help me, Precious," cried Ethel coaxingly. "You can send for Lord Chester to come to you. You are such a child still that it will not seem strange for you to plead your sister's cause with him. You can tell him all I have confessed to you—my love, my jealousy, my repentance. You can beg him to return to me and save my heart from breaking. Will you do this for me, my little sister? Then we shall be at peace with each other."