She rose hurriedly and made her way to the doorway, where the light from the lamp fell upon her letter. The handwriting was unfamiliar, and Jean's heart seemed to stand still as she tore open the envelope. The opening words dispelled the last doubt; her whole expression changed, and she eagerly drank in the contents of the sheet, all unconscious of the pair of eyes that were watching her narrowly. Nothing escaped Miss Stuart. She saw plainly the sudden start, the rising color, the tremulous happiness in the young girl's face. Perhaps the sight stirred some strange memory, deep hidden in her heart, for she smiled bitterly, and answered some pleasantry of Cliff's with such stinging cynicism that even that languid youth was aroused to retort. But to Jean the whole world was forgotten, as she read the lines: MY DEAR MISS LAWRENCE: It is with deep regret I write you that the _Vortex_ has been ordered up the Sound to survey a certain locality. Most unfortunately, our orders came very late. We have only just time to catch the tide by weighing anchor at once. I do not know whether you realize how great is my disappointment at leaving Hetherford, or how great is my regret at not seeing you before I go. Our stay, I trust, will not extend beyond a week, and I look forward with great pleasure to the time when we once more cast anchor in your harbor. I shall be anxious for news of little Gladys, and if I did not fear to presume, I should ask you to write me. Perhaps your goodness of heart will prompt you to forgive and indulge me at the same time. My address will be F----, which is the post-office nearest to our anchorage. Yours faithfully, VALENTINE FARR. Jean raised her eyes and let them rest on the group of people outside the doorway. No one, apparently, had a thought for her; for Miss Stuart had discreetly withdrawn her gaze, and they one and all seemed absorbed in the merry conversation. She longed to slip away to her own room, that she might be alone with her happy thoughts, but paused, irresolute, wondering, as she crumpled the note in her hand, if it would be unpardonably rude to leave her guests thus abruptly. Helen came to her rescue. "Jean, will you please go up and see if Gladys is asleep?" Jean nodded her head in assent, and gladly disappeared. Eleanor looked after her with a kindly smile, yet she sighed a little, notwithstanding. "What would Nan do if she knew this?" she thought. Shortly afterward a servant came to the door, bringing word that Miss Gladys was sleeping soundly, and that Miss Jean begged to be excused, as she had a headache. In the night the rain fell heavily, and the rising wind sighed and sobbed like a child in pain, but Jean's dreams were sweet, and her last sleeping and first waking thoughts were of Valentine Farr. CHAPTER XI. DULL DAYS.