Among that gay and gallant company moved one restless figure and peering face. David Chapman, leaving his sister, Miss Arabella, under the protecting care of Mrs. Church, lest during the confusion of so large a gathering, some daring cavalier, enamored of her maiden-charms, should elope with the guileless creature, mingled with the throng of guests, unobtrusive, but ever vigilant and watchful. Chapman’s countenance bore an odd expression, a mixture of satisfied curiosity, vindictiveness and regret. That very day a superannuated sailor who for years had served the house of Dunlap, and now acted as ship-keeper for vessels in its employ, called to report to the superintendent some trifling loss. Before leaving he asked respectfully, knuckling his forehead. “Is the manager goin’ to marry ter’day?” “Yes; why?” said Chapman sharply. “Nothin’ ’cept I’ve often seen his mother and took notice of him here,” replied the man. “Where did you see Mr. Burton’s mother? Who was she?” Chapman asked eagerly in his keen way. “In Port au Prince, mor’n twenty-five year er’go. She was Ducros’, the sugar planter’s darter, and the puttiest quadroon I ever seen. Yea, the puttiest woman of any kind I ever seen,” answered the old ship-keeper in a reminiscent tone. Chapman’s eyes fairly sparkled with pleasure as he thus secured a clew for future investigation, but without asking other questions he dismissed the retired seaman. It was this information that gave to his face that singular expression during the reception. A private palace car stood on the track in the station waiting for the coming of the bridal party. Naught less than a special train could be considered when it was decided that Florida should be the favored spot where the wealthy Haitien and his bride, the Dunlap heiress, would spend their honeymoon. Soft and balmy are the breezes, that pouring through the open windows of the car, flood the interior with odors of pine cones and orange blooms, as Burton’s special train speeds through the Flower State of the Union. The car is decked with the fresh and gorgeous blossoms of this snowless land; yet of all the fairest is that sweet bud that rests on Burton’s breast. “Walter, how sweet is life when one loves and is beloved,” said Burton’s young wife dreamily, raising her head from his breast and gazing fondly into her husband’s eyes. “Yes, love, life then is heaven on earth, sweet wife,” whispered the husband clasping closely the yielding figure in his arms. “I am so happy, dearest Walter, I love you so dearly,” murmured Lucy clinging still closer to her lover. “You will always love me thus, I hope, my darling,” said Walter, as he kissed the white forehead of his bride. “Of course I shall, my own dear husband,” answered unhesitatingly the happy, trusting woman.