“Very well! Then my hope is in Em. She is a dutiful daughter, and she will obey me,” concluded John Palmer, as he waved his departing guest adieu and returned into the house. He looked around for Em.; but the girl was nowhere to be seen. He inquired for her and was told that she had gone upstairs to make the beds. “And I would just like to know,” said his wife, who had been his informant, “what they have been doing to Em. up there at the commodore’s to make her look so ill. I take my oath she does not look like the same child. I just think I’ll march myself up to the grand house and ask them what is the meaning of it all!” “Come here, my good woman. I’ll tell you all about it, and then we must drop the subject forever and a day and try to employ and amuse Em. and make her forget it,” said John, as he beckoned Susan to follow him into the parlor, where they would be more secure from interruption. There John shut the door, put his wife into the big arm-chair, and taking another for himself, sat down before her and told her the whole story of Ronald Bruce and Emolyn Palmer’s love. Susan listened in breathless astonishment. “To think of such a thing! It never once entered my head!” she exclaimed. “And Em. nothing but a child, hardly out of her short frocks and pantalettes! And he, you might say, almost a middle-aged man by comparison! And quite belonging to another world! But, oh, my poor girl!” “Well, my dear, I considered the best thing to do in such a case was to put my foot right down on it, and that I did. Though if I had thought as he’d a-made her happy in the long run I’d a-given my consent; but I knew he’d soon repent sich an unequal marriage, and that would break my girl’s heart, and so down I put my foot upon the whole thing! And now, Susan, we must never allude to what’s past, but try to comfort and cheer the child up.” Mrs. Palmer agreed to that, and then they left the parlor and set about their several duties. As for Em., she went hard to work—her panacea for all mental troubles. They all heard her singing as she shook up beds and swept floors. But when all the work was done, then came the reaction of artificial excitement—the life weariness, the heavy-heartedness, that she could not shake off. So many industrious hands about that house left so little to do! _Her_ hands could now find nothing. She thought she would walk down to the pier and take the little boat and make a visit to the island. She had not been to Edengarden for some weeks past; and this golden October day tempted her to the excursion. She went to find Susan and said: “Mother, I am going out for an hour or two, if you would not mind.” “No, of course not, child. But where are you going, Em.?” “To Edengarden, mother. I have not been there for so long a time.” “Very well, Em.; but, oh, my dear, don’t attempt to row the boat yourself! I know you _can_ do it; but still for this once take old ’Sias with you! Will you?”