He was an F. R. C. S., had graduated with high honors, and the reputation of his skill was in everybody’s mouth, while it was stated upon the best authority that he was heir prospective to large estates in both England and France, though where they were situated, and of their extent, no one seemed to know. “Mr. Tressalia, allow me to present to you my daughter, Miss Dalton.” Such was the introduction of Paul Tressalia, the distinguished stranger, to Edith Dalton, as performed by Mr. Dalton, one golden summer evening, as Editha sat by herself upon the broad piazza of their hotel, musing rather pensively upon the events of the past two years. Editha lifted her large blue eyes, which filled with instant admiration as they rested upon the handsome stranger, and she gracefully saluted him, realizing at once that she was in the presence of a man of power—one of superior intellect, and yet with a velvet hand withal, as the mild dark eyes and the gentle expression of his mouth asserted. Mr. Tressalia, on his part, was evidently powerfully attracted by those same large and expressive eyes, which were reading his face with such a comprehensive glance. His gaze rested admiringly on the slender figure, with its mien of blended grace, reserve, and dignity, attired, so simply yet artistically, in its force of spotless embroidered muslin; on the small head, with its silken aureate crown; on the sweet face, so full of expression and the impress of latent character. Her small hands seemed to him like “symmetrical snowflakes,” her feet like little mice peeping from beneath the flowing robe, and all her movements full of “sweet, attractive grace.” Mr. Tressalia noted all this during the ceremony of introduction, and realized at once that he had “met his fate” in this being “fair as Venus,” whose “Face and figure wove a spell While her bright eyes were beaming.” Editha had not mingled very much in the gayeties of Newport as yet—she could not enjoy them; her heart was sore and sad; she could not forget the two dear ones so recently gone, nor the young promising life confined by prison walls. Not a day passed that Earle Wayne’s noble face did not rise up before her, and she seemed to hear his rich, clear voice asserting constantly, “Their _saying_ that I am guilty does not _make_ me so. I have the consciousness within me that I am innocent of a crime, and I will live to prove it yet to _you_ and the world,” and the knowledge of his cruel fate was a constant pain. But now she was almost insensibly drawn out of herself and her sad musings. Mr. Tressalia possessed a peculiar charm in his gentle manner, and in his brilliant and intelligent conversation; and, almost before she was aware of it, Editha found herself joining and enjoying the party of choice spirits who seemed to own him as their center. The ice once broken, who shall tell of the bright, delightful days that followed?