to me that by implication I, too, was being covertly watched. I should not be watched for nothing! "Miss Searle," I said, insisting upon her attention, "promise me something."
She turned upon me with a start and the glance of one appealing from some great pain. "O, don't ask me!" she cried. It was as if she were standing on the verge of some sudden lapse of familiar ground and had been summoned to make a leap. I felt that retreat was impossible, and that it was the greater kindness to beckon her forward.
"Promise me," I repeated.
Still with her eyes she protested. "O, dreadful day!" she cried, at last.
"Promise me to let him speak to you, if he should ask you, any wish you may suspect on your brother's part notwithstanding."
She colored deeply. "You mean," she said,—"you mean that he—has something particular to say."
"Something most particular!"
"Poor cousin!"
I gave her a deeply questioning look. "Well, poor cousin! But promise me."
"I promise," she said, and moved away across the long room and out of the door.
"You're in time to hear the most delightful story!" said my friend, as I rejoined the two gentle-
