Elisha appeared with an immense bouquet of roses. These Celeste arranged on the table beside the latest magazine which Jack had brought from New York. Nothing was left undone and everything bespoke loving thoughtfulness.
In the kitchen Margaret was outdoing herself. Only too well did she remember Hernando's partiality for certain dishes and Reuben haunted the city markets.
It was now five o'clock and the first down train was due at six. All day long forces of men had been busy clearing the streets so that the main ones were passable, and promptly at six Reuben reined up at the station. Mr. De Vere sprang out of the sleigh, tramping impatiently back and forth. Six-twenty and still no train. What could be the matter? Mr. De Vere's nervous strain was beginning to tell, and although accosted by several of his acquaintances, he did not heed; his mind was intent on one thing. The perspiration stood in drops on his forehead and every few seconds he took off his hat to wipe a bald spot
