"I have not heard. Mr. Seeley has been there; for I saw him in the dining-room with Ellen Adair." Arthur Bohun's pulses froze to ice. "I think they are both in the garden now." "Are they?" snapped Arthur. "His patients must get on nicely if he idles away his mornings in a garden." Bessy looked up from her darning. "I don't mean that Seeley's there, Arthur--I mean Mrs. Cumberland and Ellen." As Bessy spoke, Jelly was seen to come out of Mrs. Cumberland's house, penetrate the trees, and return with her mistress. "Some one has called, I suppose," remarked Bessy. Captain Bohun thought the gods had made the opportunity for himself expressly. He went out, stepped over the small fence, and disappeared in the direction that Mrs. Cumberland had come from, believing it would lead him to Ellen Adair. In the secluded and beautiful spot where we first saw her--but where we shall not often, alas! see her again--she sat. The flowers of early spring were out then; the richer summer flowers were blooming now. A natural bower of roses seemed to encompass her; the cascade was trickling softly as ever down the artificial rocks, murmuring its monotonous cadence; the birds sang to each other from branch to branch; glimpses of the green lawn and of brilliant flowers were caught through the trees. Ellen Adair had sometimes thought the spot beautiful as a scene in fairy-land. It was little less so. She was not working this morning. An open book lay before her on the rustic table; her cheek was leaning on her raised hand, from which the lace fell back; a hand so suspiciously delicate as to betoken a want of sound strength in its owner. She wore a white dress, with a bow of pink ribbon at the throat, and a pink waistband. There were times, and this was one of them, when she looked extremely fragile. A sound of footsteps. Ellen only thought it was Mrs. Cumberland returning, and read on. But there was a different sound in _these_ steps as they gained on her ear. Her heart stood still, and then bounded on again tumultuously, her pulses tingled, her sweet face turned red as the blushing rose. Sunshine had come. "Good-morning, Miss Adair." In cold, resentful, haughty tones was it spoken, and he did not attempt to shake hands. The sunshine seemed to go in again with a sweep. She closed her book and opened it, her fingers fluttering. Captain Bohun put down his hat on the seat. "I thought Seeley might be here," said he, seeking out a lovely rose, and plucking it carefully. "Seeley!" she exclaimed. "Seeley. I beg your pardon. I did not know I spoke indistinctly. SEELEY." He stood and faced her, watching the varying colour of her face, the soft blushes going and coming. Somehow they increased his anger. "May I ask if you have accepted him?" "Ac--cepted him!" she stammered, in wild confusion. "Accepted what?" "The offer that Seeley made you last night." "It was not last night," she replied in a confused impulse.