She sat in the misty June twilight thinking this, with a sad, hopeless kind of resignation. It was the fifth of June. Could she forget that this very day twelvemonth was to have been her wedding-day? Poor Jules--poor Kate! Oh, what a wretch she had been!

She covered her face with her hands, tears falling like rain through her thin fingers.

"I wonder if they will be sorry for me, and forgive me, when they hear I am dead?" she thought. "Oh, how I live, and live; when other women would have died long ago with half this trouble. Only nineteen, and with nothing left to wish for but death."

There was a tap at the door. Before she could speak it was opened, and Jane, the brisk, came rustling in.

"There's a gentleman down-stairs, Mrs. Stanford, asking to see you."

Rose sprang up, her lips apart, her eyes dilating.

"To see me! A gentleman! Jane, is it Mr. Stanford?"

Jane shook her head.

"Not a bit like Mr. Stanford, ma'am; not near so 'andsome, though a very fine-looking gentleman. He said, to tell you as 'ow a friend wanted to see you."

A friend! Oh, who could it be? She made a motion to Jane to show him up--she was too agitated to speak. She stood with her hands clasped over her beating heart, breathless, waiting.

A man's quick step flew up the stairs; a tall figure stood in the doorway, hat in hand.

Rose uttered a faint cry. She had thought of her father, of Jules La Touche, never once of him who stood before her.

"Doctor Frank!" she gasped; and then she was holding to a chair for support, feeling the walls swimming around her.

Doctor Frank took her in his arms, and kissed her pale cheek as tenderly and pityingly as her father might have done.

"My poor child! My poor little Rose! What a shadow you are! Don't cry so--pray don't!"

She bowed her weary head against his shoulder, and broke out into hysterical sobbing. It was so good to see that friendly familiar face once more--she clung to him with a sense of unspeakable trust and relief, and cried in the fullness of her heart.

He let her tears flow for awhile, sitting beside her, and stroking the faded, disordered hair away from the wan, pale face.

"There! there!" he said, at last, "we have had tears enough now. Look up and let me talk to you. What did you think when you received no answer to your letter?"

"I thought you all very cruel. I thought I was forgotten."

"Of course you did; but you are not forgotten, and it is my fault that you have had no letter. I wanted to surprise you; and I have brought a letter from your father breathing nothing but love and forgiveness."

"Give it to me!" cried Rose, breathlessly; "give it to me!"

"Can't, unfortunately, yet awhile. I left it at my hotel. Don't look so disappointed. I am going to take you there in half an hour. Hallo! Is that the baby?"

Reginald Stanford, Junior, asleep in his crib, set up a sudden squall at this moment.

Doctor Frank crossed the floor, and hoisted him up in a twinkling.

"Why, he's a splendid little fellow, Rose, and the very image of--What do you call him?"

"Reginald," Rose said, in a very subdued tone.

"Well, Master Reginald, you and I are going to be good friends, aren't we, and you're not going to cry?"

He hoisted him high in the air, and baby answered with a loud crow.

"That's right. Babies always take to me, Rose. You don't know how many dozens I have nursed in my time. But you don't ask me any questions about home. Aren't you curious to know how they all get on?"

"Papa is married, I suppose?" Rose said.

"Of course--last January. And Danton Hall was burnt down; and they have built up another twice as big and three times as handsome. And Mr.

Richards--you remember the mysterious invalid, Rose?"

"Yes."

"Well, Mr. Richards turned out to be your brother Harry, who lived shut up there, because he thought he had committed a murder, some time before, in New York. And Agnes Darling--you have not forgotten Agnes Darling?"

"Oh, no."

"Agnes Darling turns out to be his wife. Quite a romance, isn't it? I will tell you all the particulars another time. Just now, I want you to put on your bonnet and come with me to my hotel. Don't ask me why--I won't tell you. We will fetch the baby too. Go, get ready."

Doctor Frank was imperative, and Rose yielded at once. It was so indescribably delightful, after all these weeks of suspense and despair, to see Frank Danton's friendly face, and to listen to his friendly voice, commanding as one who had the right. Rose had her hat and shawl on directly, and, with baby in her arms, followed him down stairs. A hansom stood waiting. He helped her in, gave the cabman his orders, took his place beside her, and they rattled off.

"When am I going home?" Rose asked, suddenly. "Have you come to fetch me?"

"Not precisely. You are to return with me, however."

"And when are we going?"

"That is not quite decided yet. It is an after-consideration, and there is no hurry. Are you particularly anxious to be back to Canada?"

"I am tired of being lonely and homeless," poor Rose replied, the tears starting. "I want to be at rest, and among the dear familiar faces.

Doctor Frank," she said, looking at him appealingly, "have they forgiven me, do you think?"

"Whom do you mean by they, Mrs. Stanford?"

"Papa and--and Kate."

"I have reason to think so. Of course, it must have been rather disagreeable to Kate at first, to have her lover run away and leave her, but I really think she has got over it. We must be resigned to the inevitable, you know, my dear Rose, in this changeable world."

Rose sighed, and looked out of the window. A moment later, and the cab drew up before a stately hotel.

"This is the place," said the Doctor. "Come!"

He helped her out, gave his arm, and led her up a long flight of broad stairs. It was quite a little journey through carpeted corridors to the gentleman's apartments; but he reached the door at last. It opened into a long vista of splendour, as it seemed to Rose, accustomed so long to the shabby Strand lodgings. She had expected to find the Doctor's rooms empty; but, to her surprise, within an inner apartment, whose door stood wide, she saw a lady. The lady, robed in bright silk, tall and stately, with golden hair twisted coronet wise round the shapely head, stood with her back to them, looking out of the window. Something in that straight and stately form struck with a nameless thrill to Rose Stanford's heart; and she stood in the doorway, spell-bound. At the noise of their entrance, the lady turned round, uttered an exclamation of pleasure, and advanced towards them. Doctor Frank stood with a smile on his face, enjoying Mrs. Stanford's consternation. Another second and she was clasped in the lady's arms.

"Rose! Rose! My dear little sister!"

"Kate!" Rose murmured, faintly, all white and trembling.