A small boy in a blue navy suit was running up the beach. The wind was blowing against him as he ran, and he frequently stumbled; but he didn't mind the stumbles. He was chuckling to himself, and, when he burst into the room, where his mother sat with her sister, his chuckle became a noisy laugh.

"Don't laugh so loud, Lee," said Prudence's mother, holding up her hand. "I think I'm going to have a headache."

But Leander did not stop his laugh in the least. He came up to the hearth between the two women, and stood in front of the fire; for there was a low fire,—"to cheer her up," Mrs. Ffolliott had said.

"I tell you, marmer," he exclaimed, "here's a go!"

Before he could further explain his remark the door opened again and Carolyn entered. She went up to her mother and sat down on a footstool by her, leaning on her lap. "I wanted to be with you, mamma, this last evening," she said.

Mrs. Ffolliott felt her eyes fill, but she spoke cheerfully.

"Where's Prue?" she asked. She stroked her daughter's hair.

"Oh, she went out half an hour ago," was the reply. "She said she was so nervous she couldn't stay in the house; besides, she had an engagement with Leander. What are you here for, Lee?" She looked in surprise at her brother.

"What you here for, yourself?" was the immediate response. Then the boy resumed his laugh. "Won't there be a lammin' s'prise on the Vireo?" he exclaimed. "I hope he'll think she's a ghost. But I got cheated out of my sail all the same, 'n' the wind's just whizzin' good."

Leander glanced at his sister, and cried out, "What you lookin' at me so for?"

"Is there any reason why I shouldn't look at you?" she asked, calmly.

"No; only you needn't eat me."

Carolyn turned her eyes towards the fire and remained silent. A red spot came quickly to each cheek; yet she could hardly have explained why her face should burn. And what was Lee talking about? Why wasn't he in his bed long ago if he wasn't with Prue?

"It's too windy for you to go sailing," said the boy's mother.

"Is it? You bet 'tain't, then. And they'll have a first-class breeze. The Vi'll go, I tell you."

"Who's gone?"

Mrs. Ffolliott put the question with little interest, but she saw that her son wished to talk on the subject, therefore he must be allowed to do so.

"Why, Rodney 'n' Prue. 'N' the joke of it is that Rodney didn't know anybody was aboard, 'n' all the time there was Prue in the cabin; 'n' Devil was there, too. Rod came rushin' down, 'n' I was goin' to get in, too, 'n' he said no, he wanted to go alone. 'N' so I let him; 'n' I bet he'll be frightened out of his boots, when Prue walks out. If she's bright, 'n' she is, she'll come a ghost, or somethin', on him. She could do that splendid. Couldn't she do a ghost splendid, Caro?"

"Yes," said Caro.

Caro's mother glanced at her smilingly; the affair was a good joke to her also; and how funny Lee had made it. Then she glanced again in a startled way. She leaned over and drew her daughter to her, but the girl would not lean against her. "Carolyn," cried her mother, in a sharp voice, "what is it? There's something dreadful in your eyes! It is like what I dreamed about you when you wished Prudence was drowned. You remember?"

Carolyn drew herself up. She put a hand over her eyes for an instant.

"Mother," she said, reproachfully, "how can you be so foolish? And you must have a very vivid imagination to-night. There's nothing dreadful in my face, is there, Aunt Ellen?"

Prudence's mother smiled languidly and replied that Letitia was full of notions this evening.

A strong rush of wind came shrieking about the house; a puff of smoke leaped out of the chimney across the hearth.

"Bully time for a spin in the Vireo," remarked Leander. "It was kinder mean that Rodney didn't let me go. Do you s'pose he's found out yet that Prue's on board, Caro?"

The boy was rubbing his smarting eyes as he spoke. His sister had now risen; she was standing by the hearth, with one hand on the mantel. She was telling herself that the first involuntary movement of her heart had been mean and disloyal, and she had thrust that emotion from her. Did she distrust the man to whom she gave herself? And Rodney did not know Prudence was on board. How ridiculous, nay, how dishonoring to her own soul had been that involuntary distrust!

"Do you s'pose he's found it out yet, Caro?" persisted Leander.

"I don't know, I'm sure—yes, of course. How the wind does blow!" Another gust came sweeping down from the land.

"Yes, bully. I say, you ain't afraid, are you, sis? They both know how to sail the Vi. I wonder how far they'll go?"

"Don't talk so much, Lee; you confuse me."

Carolyn deliberately walked away from the hearth and to the door that led into the hall.

"You're not going out, are you?" asked her mother.

"Yes; I want to go."

"How can you? Why, it's a real September gale."

But Carolyn opened the door and went into the hall. She was followed by her brother, who flung open the outer door and ran out ahead. The two walked around to the south side of the house, where the wind swept in full force. But Carolyn was aware, in spite of her anxiety, that she had no real cause to fear for the safety of those on the Vireo, since they knew how to manage a sailboat. The wind was off shore; if it drove the boat, it would drive it out to sea. She herself had been out more than once in a wind like this. It was the return which was not so easy, or rather the return required a longer time.

"Let's go down to the wharf," suggested Leander; and his sister was glad to go. The wind hastened their steps. They stood a few moments on the narrow planking. The water was black before them; the tide was coming in, but the waves were flattened by the southerly wind.

"'Twas mean of Rodney not to let me go," Leander repeated. This grievance seemed to grow upon him. "But he'll find he isn't alone, for all that," he chuckled.

Carolyn was thinking one thought over and over:

"To-morrow we shall have left Prudence,—to-morrow we shall have left Prudence."

Then she suddenly stopped that iteration by telling herself that it was true that Rodney no longer cared for Prudence. Had he not shown plainly enough that he had recovered from that infatuation? Was it an infatuation? How often we like to call the love which is not offered us, or which we do not quite understand, by that term! "And to-morrow we shall be far away. I will make him happy. Surely, surely, God will let me make him happy."

The girl turned back towards the house. And now the wind seemed trying to take her up bodily and fling her into the sea.

Leander struggled on beside her, talking, talking. She wished his tongue might be still for one moment.

At last he dropped a little behind by the path which led to the stable. He shrieked after his sister that he was going to see if his ducks had got loose.

Carolyn walked on, her body bent forward to meet the gale. Thus walking she came suddenly upon a man who was hurrying in an opposite direction.

He drew back, uttering an exclamation, and taking off his hat as he did so.

Neither could see the other at first in the darkness.

"Oh, I beg your pardon," he said. "Is it Miss Ffolliott?"

"It is Carolyn Ffolliott," was the answer; "and you are Lord Maxwell?"

"Yes;" and then the gentleman hesitated. Even in the dusk, and notwithstanding her preoccupation, Carolyn had the impression that Lord Maxwell was under some unusual excitement.

"May I walk back to the house with you?"

Without waiting for her reply, Lord Maxwell turned, and the two went on.

"Miss Prudence Ffolliott is here?"

There was a certain intensity in his voice which added to the girl's emotion.

"Yes—no," she answered, in some confusion; "she is staying here, as you know, but just now is out in the Vireo."

"When will she be in?" He put the question quickly.

"I don't know."

Having given this answer, Carolyn expected the man to leave her immediately; but he did not. He kept on beside her until they reached the piazza, where hung a lamp. By the light of this lamp Carolyn saw his face. She restrained any manifestation of her surprise, but she asked, quietly, "Are you ill, Lord Maxwell?"

"No, thank you, no."

He moved restlessly as he stood. His face was flushed to a deep red; his prominent eyes had a strange fire in them. Carolyn's instant thought was that he had dined, and had also drunk more than was usual with him.

She was silent for an instant, then she said, "Won't you come into the house and see mamma?"

He moved again.

"No, no," he said, hastily. "You are very good, but I can't, really I can't. I say, now," he added, abruptly, "it's too confounded beastly that Miss Prudence is gone, you know."

Yes, he had certainly been drinking too much. Carolyn drew herself up a little. She wondered how long he would stay.

"I've had a telegram,—Sulphur Springs, you know. Lady Maxwell worse,—not likely to live."

"Oh, I'm so sorry!"

"Eh? Oh, yes, of course,—sorry, you know."

The speaker pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and passed it over his face.

"It isn't the least likely she'll live," he said, huskily. "I'm going to take the next train, you know; but I had time to come over here. I wanted devilishly to see your cousin,—oh, I beg pardon, I wanted very much to see her, you know. We're old friends and all that, you know. When did you think she'll be back?"

"I don't know." "Hope she didn't go alone; dev—I mean, hard wind, you know. Is she alone?"

"No."

"Who's with her?"

"Mr. Lawrence."

Carolyn spoke with the utmost coldness, but she answered promptly.

"Lawrence? Damn him! What's he—"

"Lord Maxwell!"

"Oh, I beg pardon,—ten thousand times, I'm sure. Do forgive me! You see, Thorbury—know Sir Charles Thorbury?—has just come over, and he and two or three of us have been dining. And if I take a drop more'n usual it plays the dev—it goes to my head. Beastly shame! Do forgive me! But I know what I'm about well enough; I want to see the other Miss Ffolliott. I'd give a thousand pounds to see her 'fore I start."

Lord Maxwell drew out his watch and held it beneath the lamp.

"Jove! I've got to go this very minute! But you tell her, won't you, Miss Ffolliott, that Lady Maxwell's very ill,—not expected to live,—Sulphur Springs no good, after all. Good-by. Wish you joy,—wish you joy. Forgot 'bout your marriage. Good-by." Carolyn did not speak, and he walked away,—walked with perfect steadiness, though he had talked thus. In fact, he was as much affected by his sudden news as by his champagne.

Carolyn remained a few moments where he had left her. She was thinking that if Lady Maxwell died, then surely this time Prudence would herself become Lady Maxwell. But how could her cousin consent to pass her life with a man like that. Good-natured? Yes, perhaps, but a mere animal? Then the girl caught herself comparing the Englishman with Rodney Lawrence. She always compared every man with Lawrence, much to the advantage of the latter.

After a few moments Carolyn returned to the house. She walked restlessly up the stairs, and then into the tower which overlooked the ocean. She opened the window next the water and leaned out of it; the warm air swept over her as it rocked the tower. How dark it was! And to-morrow she was to be married.

At that moment it seemed to her that she would never see Rodney again,—that on this night all life, that was really life, would stop for her.

She roused herself quickly from such morbid fancyings. The rack of cloud was rushing over the heavens, the stars shining now and then between the dark masses. Carolyn's gaze was fastened on the sea, which lay black and strangely still beneath the wind; but a southerly wind was like a calming hand on the water of this part of the bay.

"There is not the least danger,—not the very least," she said, aloud. "They know how to manage a boat. Rodney will only go a little way. In an hour or two they will be back."

So the girl resolved not to yield to any such imaginings. She hastened down to the room where her mother and aunt still sat over the smouldering fire on the hearth. She walked calmly up to her mother's side and resumed her place on the footstool by her.

"Have they come home yet?" asked Prudence's mother.

"No; it's hardly time."

"There's one consolation," said the elder lady, "nothing ever happens to Prue; she'll do the strangest things, and nothing ever happens to her. We needn't worry in the least."

"No, not in the least," responded Carolyn.

She sat at her mother's feet and watched the ashes gather over the coals on the hearth. The women talked fitfully, and the girl tried to listen to what they said. One of them recalled how nervous she had been when her own wedding-day had been set. She said that, though she never doubted her lover in the least, she had a dreadful conviction that something would happen to keep him from coming to be married. Here the speaker laughed as she went on:

"My father said that if I had such an opinion as that of Leander Ffolliott I'd better never marry him, even if he did come."

"But he was there,—he was not a minute late?" asked Carolyn, with uncontrollable interest.

Her mother smiled at her, as she answered, complacently, "He was early; of course he was early. But why do you look so pale, Caro?"

Carolyn had no time to answer, for Leander came plunging into the room fresh from the pen where he kept his fowls. He announced that the wind was going down, and that it was time for "Rod 'n' Prue" to be back. He was besought by his mother to go to bed, but refused utterly, saying that he was going to sit up for Prue.

He threw himself down on the rug before the fire, and in less than five minutes was asleep.

The three women sat on. Occasionally Prudence's mother inhaled the odor from her vinaigrette and made some insignificant remark. She was evidently trying to keep awake. At last, when the clock struck eleven, she rose and said that she must try to be fresh for the next day, and that Prue was very thoughtless to stay out so long.

Thus Carolyn and her mother and the sleeping boy were left in the room. The girl went herself and brought more wood, which she placed carefully on the coals, as carefully as if her own fate depended upon the sticks igniting. Presently the flames curled up about the fuel, licking the bark, with a purple light at the edges.

Mrs. Ffolliott leaned back and dozed a little; Carolyn gazed steadily at the fire. After awhile the clock struck twelve.

The wind had subsided now, save for an occasional long-drawn moan about the house.

Mrs. Ffolliott sat up straight. She tried to look as if she had not been asleep.

"Really," she exclaimed, "I must say that they are very thoughtless, very thoughtless, indeed. I wonder at them."

Carolyn made no reply. She did not change her position in the least. She sat with her arm across her mother's lap, her face towards the hearth. "Yes," Mrs. Ffolliott repeated; "I do wonder at them. Are you going to sit up any longer, Caro?"

"Just a little while longer," was the answer, in a quiet voice; "but you go, mother; you'll need the rest."

"No, no; I'll stay with you."

The speaker drew the afghan more closely over the boy asleep on the hearth. Then she put her head against the back of the chair and again fell asleep.

When she had breathed heavily for a time, Caro carefully withdrew from her position beside her and walked noiselessly to the window. She flung aside the curtain and looked out. A heavy rack of cloud was in the east and south, but above the stars shone clearly.

Carolyn stood with her hands pressed closely on her breast, gazing up at the heavens where the stars glittered.

"I must keep still,—still," was her only coherent thought.

At last she began to walk towards the door, going noiselessly, lest she waken the sleepers. Silently she opened the door, and silently she closed it. She lingered a brief space, leaning against the wall and listening. "They may be coming now," she was thinking. She bent her head forward. Had she heard steps and voices?

No, she had heard nothing; it was her own fancy. Her temples were throbbing so that she could not hear plainly.

She went on to the outer door. This had been locked and bolted. But she turned the key and drew back the bolt. When she stepped without she actually gasped in the intensity of her excitement. But she moved quietly, her lips held tightly together, her eyes gleaming, her face colorless.

Once outside the door, she stepped off the piazza and began to run. She ran at the full speed of which she was capable; but, curiously, she did not run towards the shore, but down the carriage-drive that led to the public highway. Once on the road, she did not slacken her pace until she was so breathless that she must pause. Then she stood still in the middle of the road, panting, but conscious of a certain relief from the tension that had been upon her as she had sat by her mother's side.

"I could not have kept still one moment longer,—no, not one instant."

She spoke loudly into the silence of the night. A low wind sobbed through some birches near her. It was only a low wind now; all violence had gone out of it.

When Carolyn looked back upon this night, she always recalled precisely how the wind sounded in the birches as she stood in the road, struggling for breath after her run. There was a damp perfume of rose-geranium clinging to her skirts, for she had trampled upon a shrub of geranium as she had once swerved from the path.

She tried not to listen, but she could not help straining forward to hear something, though she was fully aware that she had come away from the shore. She was also fully aware that by this time Lawrence and his companion could easily have returned; that is, if they had gone a few miles only, as was to be expected.

They had gone farther. What was Prudence saying to Rodney? What the tone of her voice? What the glance of her eyes in the dusk?

"What? What?"

Carolyn shouted out that word. She was almost beside herself, and, knowing this, she shrank back as she heard her own voice call thus into the darkness.

"I must be still,—still," she said, again. "If I give way, I cannot tell what I shall do." A pause, during which she listened. Then she said, with a terrible vindictiveness:

"I hate her! hate her! hate her!"

There was a wild satisfaction in shouting this to the night.

"But how foolish I am!"

She pushed her hair back from her face, and was startled to feel how burning hot her cheeks felt to her cold hands.

Soon she turned and walked homeward,—walked soberly, as if she were thinking calmly of a subject indifferent to her. She went in at the door, which had been open, and softly entered the room she had just left.

Her mother wakened and raised her head.

"They've come, haven't they?" she asked.

"No."

"Oh, well," she said, comfortably, "I suppose they went farther than they intended; but it was very thoughtless of them,—very; and I shall tell them so. Don't you think we might better go to bed, Caro dear?"

"You go, mamma; do go," was the girl's response.

"Oh, no, not without you." Mrs. Ffolliott leaned forward in her chair, looking into the fire. "What curious things one will dream," she said, with a smile. "I must have been asleep, for I wakened trying to think of the last two lines—do tell me, Caro:

"What is the rest? It's so annoying, a little thing like that. Can't you tell me?"

The girl stood behind her mother's chair, and repeated, softly: