Miss Fiske had lived with the Tracys several years, and her incipient curiosity concerning the mystery pertaining to their household was becoming more obvious, for mystery there certainly was. At specific periods of the year, when she advanced towards certain portions of the old mansion, she had been deterred in her attempts to proceed. It was not that she was more curious than the average mortal, but no matter how devoid of innate curiosity one is, the mere fact that there is something worthy of secrecy immediately produces as a natural sequence a suddenly awakened interest and a consequent desire of exposition.

There were only three occupants of the home: the two Tracys, brother and sister, and Miss Fiske, who had accepted the proffered home on the death of her father, her only near surviving relative. It is true there had been an intimation of loving services that might be rendered in return, to the brother and sister, or, perhaps, she would not have accepted so readily the proffered home without remuneration, though it was evident that they needed none, and would have been sorely wounded by any such offer. Miss Fiske could well have afforded something more substantial than her presence. While the two families were not consanguineous, there had been intermarriages, consequently, more than feelings of friendship existed between them. Mr. Tracy seemed to the girl of twenty-two almost like a father, guardian he had been till she arrived at her majority.

Sometimes Adelina fancied her life similar to that portrayed by writers of fiction, the old dwelling and its accompanying secretiveness all tending to foster this belief. It is not my wish to leave the impression that such a trivial circumstance could effect a radical transformation in so sensible a young person as the one in question, nor did she linger over these things to the detriment of better thoughts and occupations. There were times, as already mentioned, when it was plain that her presence in the western wing of the house would be an intrusion. The cause of this, try as she would, could not be divined. Everywhere else she was welcomed with joy, for both Harold and Mary Tracy had learned to look upon her as the best gift vouchsafed to their isolated lives; not that they had ever been really unhappy, except at rare intervals, but for years they had held aloof from the social gatherings of Deanmouth, deeming each other's society all-sufficient until the appearance of a third person, who immediately upset that theory, in fact, rejuvenating all that came into contact with her striking personality. Prior to her arrival at Deanmouth, there had indeed been one who had succumbed to her influence. Poor young fellow! He had so long brooded over her refusal to be in turn influenced in like manner by him that his mind had gradually become unbalanced. There had been an attack of fever; hence, the combination of these simultaneous misfortunes—sickness and disappointment—had resulted in the unhinging of a heretofore well balanced mind.Had he not been so weakened mentally and physically by this protracted illness, this might never have occurred. With no vitality; indeed, no wish to regain it, what else could have ensued? Miss Fiske was greatly troubled, reproaching herself constantly, yet conscious of her inability to act otherwise—at that time, anyway. Had there since been no regret at the refusal of so great a love? Who will say? none knew of it assuredly; her uniform cheerfulness precluding all thought of regret or longing. Were there more resembling her, and thus endeavoring to ameliorate the woes of others, how far would we be towards the advancement of the evolution which is the outcome of our existence; but far be it from me to intimate that there are not many who daily, hourly, submerge all thought of self in the one desire of abetting others. Was not that one of the ends for which we were created, else why permitted to be companions to those with the same sensibilities as ourselves? Miss Fiske had no notion of embittering her own life or that of others in bewailing the past, in idle conjectures of what might have been; nor did she deem it at all necessary to spend her time in futile surmises as to the future ills that might chance to fall to her lot.

One day Adelina had returned from her accustomed walk, without finding Mary in her usual place, waiting to welcome her with her peculiarly sweet smile, and ready interest in all that appertained to the life of a young person. Adelina was not to wait long, however, before Mary entered the room, with cheeks flushed with excitement, but if the former expected any disclosures or explanations incident to the cause of this agitation, she was destined to disappointment. Her delicate attempts to elicit information proved futile, and apparently passed unnoticed, for to effect revelations of a personal nature from beings inherently reticent is no facile undertaking. Adelina's question with regard to her friend's welfare met with no response except a rather positive denial as to any indisposition. Such a fact as the discomposure of Mary was unusual enough to call forth comment.

"No, dear; I am always well, except, perhaps, during the two months you are away from me. I am afraid I am very selfish," Mary added, with a loving smile.

"Dear Mary, the idea of your ever being made selfish by anything is preposterous. I have often wondered why you and Harold always persist in my going away at the same time, when I can see how much you miss me."

"Old people have their whims. You have lived with them long enough to find that out, dear." Adelina's assurance that her friend would never become old was uttered with a quiet air, but there was, nevertheless, an internal disquietude in the young girl's mind, for which she could not account.

"I wonder what's up?" she said to herself. "Why is it I am asked, even urged, to be away the early part of each summer?" In some unaccountable way she connected this with the reason of her exclusion from one part of the house, though repeatedly assuring herself that such a conclusion was irrelevant. Despite her manifold efforts to the contrary, this thought was continually recurring to her. Mary's repeated asseverations that she was only suffering from lassitude did not deceive Adelina, for if she experienced such a sensation her friends had never known her to admit it before. Adelina was grieved to witness the agitation which marred the usual serenity of Mary's countenance.

"Ada, dear, play something restful." Adelina immediately conceded to her request, and selected from her large repertoire the compositions most liable to drive away unwelcome thoughts.

"How well you play," said her auditor. "How do you manage to make those fingers perform their office so well?"

"Look at your own, and behold the answer," laughingly replied Adelina. Miss Tracy blushed with pleasure, she, too, had performed on the piano wonderfully well.

The life of this young girl forcibly recalled to her her own youth; perhaps that is why the years bring to the older members of the great drama of Life a desire of renewing through others the part as already enacted by them. Harold, at this juncture, appeared on the scene, the sound of music, as his sister often told him, seeming to reach him no matter where he chanced to be. In this instance other thoughts claimed his attention.

"Adelina," he began, "would you not like to go to some livelier place?"

"Why, Harold, I've just been away."

"Your just means a year, nevertheless," he mischievously retorted, "however flattered we may be by your implying that the time was short."

This was the time annually appointed for her departure.