“Now, to-morrow, Miss Em., I’ll hunt over de lumber-room to try and find a frame dat will fit it. It _used_ to have a frame of its own, but de old madam took it to put another pictur’ in. Hows’ever, I know I can find one to fit it there, ’cause you see, Miss Em., whenever I wants anything as I haven’t got, and can’t get anywhere else, I takes a broomstick and I goes up into the lumber-room, and I tosses up everything till I finds what I want. So now, Miss Em., I bids you good-night, and to-morrow we’ll frame de pictur’ and hang it up anywhere you like,” said the kind-hearted colored girl as she left the room. Em. went to the door and watched until she heard Liza go all the way downstairs and leave the house, locking the back door behind her. Then she returned to her own room, fastened herself in, and fell to the contemplation of the portrait. The bright, frank, joyous face that seemed to smile in hers fascinated her to such a degree that she could scarcely withdraw her gaze for a moment from it. “I have read, or heard, that every one fated to die by any sudden or violent catastrophe carries the shadow of the coming ill on brow or cheek; but surely no prevision of early death darkens this glad young face!” she murmured to herself as she gazed with infinite sympathy, tenderness and compassion on this counterfeit presentment of the unfortunate young midshipman. The sonorous hall clock began to strike eleven. Like hammer on anvil its strokes rang through the house. Em., with a long, lingering gaze, left the portrait and prepared for bed. So ended her first day at the mountain house. Em., wearied with the various fatigues and excitements of the time, slept soundly until morning. She was finally awakened by a rap at her door and the voice of her little maid calling: “It’s half-past seven, Miss Em., and de ladies has breakfas’ at eight.” “Quite right! I will be ready in time,” said Em. as soon as she had collected her scattered senses and remembered where she was; for, indeed, on being first aroused from her sleep she could scarcely “place herself.” “Please to open de door and let me in to make your fire, Miss Em.,” said Liza. Em. jumped out of the bed and complied with the request. Then her eyes fell upon the pictured face of Lonny Bruce—brighter, gladder, more joyous looking by the morning light than it had seemed the evening before. Em. greeted it with such a smile as she would have given to a living and beloved face, and then while her little maid kindled her fire she made her simple morning toilet. She made such good haste that when she reached the breakfast-room she found none of the family except Ronald Bruce. “Good-morning, Em. I was in hopes you would be down first, so I came here on purpose to wait for you, Em. I want you to promise to marry me.” “Oh, Ronald, you know I cannot do that without the knowledge and consent of all your family and all mine,” replied Em.