"My dearest love, my heart's one treasure:

"It is no longer any use to try and put you out of my heart. I have tried to do it as you wished, but I cannot. I love you, my darling, and my love will not die, try as I may to kill it. You thought I could forget you if I went among fresh scenes and new faces; but it is not so--your dear face is ever before me.

Sleeping or waking, it is the same. I cannot live without you, my dearest--"

"Augusta! Augusta! what are you doing? Is that your own letter you are making public?"

The words cut the air like a flash of steel.

That word "Augusta" was reproof in itself, and Gussie felt it instantly, and she shivered as she looked up and met the flashing eyes of her sister.

"No," she replied, her cheeks aflame, but angry spite dies hard, and she smiled scornfully, as she added, "I was amusing the company with a specimen of love-making that is rare outside of novels. It is your letter, I believe."

Before Dexie could reply, Guy Traverse had risen to his feet, and coming towards the table so that his form partly shielded Dexie from view, said:

"If you have read all you wish of my letter, Miss Gussie, I beg you will return it to me," and he took it from her hand and thrust it into his breast-pocket; then turning a woeful face to the astonished guests, he said:

"Friends, have mercy on a fellow when he is down, and forget what you heard just now. It was too bad of you, Miss Gussie, to expose a poor fellow's feelings in that way. I ought to have posted my broken-hearted appeal before I came in here, but I thought I might be able to think of some stronger language that would touch the hard heart of my lady-love. I am not in luck, as you can guess; but do not, I beg of you, let it go any farther.

I appeal to you, as members of T. and B., to keep this matter quiet and not let it be talked about. Boys, you know how it is yourselves," and in seeming embarra.s.sment he turned to the window and remained in the shadow of the curtain.

"Oh! I beg your pardon, Mr. Traverse," Gussie gasped out, properly ashamed for once. "I never imagined the letter was yours," and hiding her burning cheeks in her hands she hurriedly left the room and flew to her chamber, wondering how she could ever look those people again in the face.

Traverse had given Dexie time to recover herself, and in a steadier voice than she could have commanded a few moments before, she asked the friends to drop their work, and come into the next room for refreshments.

This was a welcome interruption to all; everyone felt glad to hide the uncomfortable feeling that Gussie's act had thrown over them, and merry groups formed in the dining-room as Dexie pa.s.sed among them. The uncomfortable scene in the parlor was put out of sight, if not out of mind, and no one wondered that Guy Traverse did not make his appearance amongst them.

As soon as Dexie saw she would not be missed for a few moments, she ran up to Gussie's room.

"Come down at once, Gussie. You cannot stay away from our guests without making yourself look worse in their eyes. The sooner you make amends for your unpardonable act, the better it will be for yourself."

"Oh! Dexie, I was never so ashamed in my life! I never dreamt it was his letter; I thought it was yours."

"And what business would you have to read out anybody's letter to a company of people? I am glad to hear that you feel ashamed, for well you may! Come downstairs at once, unless you want everyone to cut you forever."

Gussie followed her sister into the dining-room, and she set about her duties as well as she could, but finding that Traverse was not in the room she soon felt more at ease.

Dexie felt that she must see Mr. Traverse before the rest entered the parlor. She had been so astonished at his bold claim of ownership that for a moment she could not understand it, but the truth flashed on her mind that he had done it to shield her, and she blessed him for it.

Guy looked round as the door opened, and coming forward he took the tray she carried in her hands and set it on a small table near, saying:

"Is this for both of us, Miss Dexie? Sit here," and he placed a screen to hide them from the gaze of intruders; then coming over to her side, drew the letter from his pocket, saying: "Forgive me, Miss Dexie, for claiming your property; it is yours, is it not?"

"Unfortunately, yes; and you were more than kind to shield me as you did,"

and she put the cause of the trouble in the deepest corner of her pocket.

"I did not know what to do when I heard Gussie reading it aloud."

"I knew at once it was yours by the way you looked; but I thought I would play the vanquished lover, and crave your pardon for my audacity afterwards," and he looked intently into Dexie's flushed face.

"Believe me, Mr. Traverse, the writer of that letter is not the silly man one would expect, judging by his foolish words. In everything else he is worthy of respect."

"Do you think it foolish for a man to love a woman with such love as he speaks of in the letter?"

"Yes; when the man knows it is useless, he should try and forget her."

"He should try--hum!--well, it seems one does not always succeed in forgetting, even with much trying. Miss Dexie, you owe me a favor; tell me honestly how you stand with this lover from over the sea. Are you engaged to be married to him, yet give him cause to write in such a strain?"

"No, certainly not; I am aware that this letter has given you the impression that I have been corresponding with the writer, but it is not so. This is only the second time I have had a letter from him, though I believe papa hears from him occasionally; but I have never sent him a line."

"How does it happen that he writes to you so appealingly? Have you jilted him, Miss Dexie?" and he looked eagerly into her face, to read her answer.

"Will you not tell me?" he added, as he waited some moments for her reply.

"There is very little to tell, Mr. Traverse. I think the part of the letter that you heard tells the story well enough," and she gave a quick look into his face, "but I think I understand what you mean. This is not the one that Gussie refers to so often."

"Miss Dexie, if I have spared your feelings to-night, spare mine now, and tell me what I ask: Is there more than one lover across the sea? Do tell me the truth, Miss Dexie."

His low, earnest tones thrilled her strangely, and she dropped her eyes, as she replied in a low tone:

"Let me first explain about the writer of the letter. I never gave him cause to write to me like that, for I have always disliked him. He has persecuted me shamefully, even so far as to threaten to shoot me if I did not promise to marry him, and the strongest wish that was ever born in my heart is that I may never see his face again." The words ended in a whisper, but so intense were the tones that Guy felt she told the truth, and he asked: "What sort of a young man is he, if I may ask?"

"If he had not made himself an object of dislike to me, I could give you a very favorable account of him," she answered, lifting her eyes an instant, then turning aside as she met his earnest looks. "He is well educated and very good-looking, if you admire the kind of beauty that goes with olive skin, eyes like midnight, and hair to correspond. He has a good bank account also, and would be a good match--for someone else," she added, laughing softly.

"Did your father favor his suit, that they correspond yet?"

"Oh! yes; and everything was arranged, settlements, and all. Nothing was lacking--except my consent."

"Then there was never a promise between you? Forgive me, Miss Dexie, if I seem inquisitive, but I wish very much to know."

"Nothing like a promise! indeed, nothing could be so distasteful as the thought of such a thing; not even from the first. I never liked him."

"But there is someone else, Miss Dexie. Is there not a promise given to someone else?" came the eager tones.

"Not exactly a promise, Mr. Traverse; but there is a mutual understanding that may lead to one. I think you would like my friend, particularly if you heard him once at the piano," she replied, as her cheeks grew pink.

"Then you are not really engaged, Miss Dexie?"

"Now, Mr. Traverse, I think I have told you enough," she replied, beginning to feel embarra.s.sed. "Some things are not easy to tell, even though one may not care if the facts are known."

"But I have not got down to facts yet, Miss Dexie, and I should like to know the truth. 'For favors received, be truly grateful.' I think it is only fair to let me know how matters stand with you and this lover over the sea."

He waited a moment for her answer, then added, in an eager tone:

"Your sister told me several times about your engagement to this young gentleman that writes to you from England. If it is so, why deny it?"

"There is a promise between us to wait a year," came the low-spoken reply.

"Then, if we are both of the same mind as when we saw each other last, I expect I shall spend the rest of my days in Halifax; but a year is a long time, and much may happen before then."

What strange power was there in his looks or words that drew this admission from her? She regretted the words the moment after she uttered them, but she did not know that she had removed the barrier that kept Guy from trying to win her himself.

"Do you think he may learn to care for someone else, or that you--"