“Was that it? Ha, ha, ha!” “Don’t laugh, Ronald. She took me for a ghost.” “Then she must have a bad conscience, that is all I can say about it! Em., I hate that woman!” “Don’t, Ronald. That is wicked, even supposing she ever injured you, which perhaps she never did.” “No, she never did. Nor did ever snakes or scorpions injure me, yet I hate them; and I hate that woman as I hate them, with an instinctive hatred.” “We should not hate anything; we should not permit the feeling of hate to take any root in our hearts,” began Em., but before she could preach her bit of a sermon she was interrupted by the appearance of Commodore Bruce, who came out of his study to cross the hall on his way to the drawing-room. “What was the matter just now? Which of the women was in hysterics?” he carelessly inquired. “Mrs. Warde met Miss Palmer in the twilight, and taking her for a ghost, screamed and fainted,” replied Ronald. “Humph! I don’t wonder, seeing that she persecuted to death one who was as much like Miss Palmer as though they had been twin sisters. Ah, well!” said the old man to himself as he passed on his way, “I am only a little less culpable than herself, seeing that I should have looked after the orphan girl whom my poor lad loved and committed to my charge with his parting words. I have often wondered what he meant when he said that he would have something to tell me which would surprise and please me, but that his lips were sealed by honor until he should return from his three years’ voyage—that voyage, ah, Heaven! from which he never came back! I often suspected that that unfortunate child was——But what is the use of speculating? The poor boy is gone, the girl is lost, and the child is dead. The past is beyond recall, and therefore beyond regret,” concluded the commodore as he passed to his arm-chair in the drawing-room. Em. had followed him, and naturally Ronald had followed Em., and while she busied her nimble fingers by arranging the books and bijouterie on the center-table Ronald stood by her side. The dinner-bell rang. “Now, where are all these women? Unpunctual as usual. I wish I had them all on board a man-o’-war in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean! I’d train ’em into punctuality! Where are they, I wonder?” “They are attending to Mrs. Warde, I think, sir,” said Em. soothingly. “Attending to Mrs. Warde? Does it take four able-bodied women to attend to a single hysterical one? Let ’em throw a pitcher of cold water over her head—that will fetch her to,” growled the old man as he arose from his seat and took his cane and crept towards the dining-room, followed by Em., who was pursued by Ronald. “You always run after uncle! You never stay behind a moment to let me have a word alone with you,” complained the young man. “No, because it is not right far me to do so,” replied Em. “What! Not when we are engaged to be married?” he whispered.