“Bosh! It is all among friends, so what’s the harm? Go on, Alberta. I am on thorns until I hear all about it. Was it a murder, or a forgery, or a bigamy, or an elopement, or an—or what was it?” eagerly questioned Elfie. “It was neither of these. It was something far more—Where are you going, Erminie?” Alberta suddenly broke off in the middle of her sentence to ask of her fair companion, who had risen and was walking away. “I am going out of hearing of a secret that my friend might not like me to know,” answered the true-hearted girl, leaving Alberta to tell Britomarte’s mystery to her only willing listener. CHAPTER II. THE MAN-HATER’S LOVER. Erminie sauntered slowly down the winding footpath leading through the magnolia grove to the acacia avenue, on the banks of the river. She had not gone far when, a few paces in advance of her she saw Britomarte walking alone. Not wishing to intrude on the amazon in her dark hour, Erminie was turning away, when Britomarte by some means became aware of her presence, and looked back with an expression of ineffable tenderness, and beckoned her to approach. The gentle girl went to the brilliant amazon’s side, and was encircled by her arm. “Thanks for letting me come, dear Britomarte,” she murmured, lifting her soft, hazel eyes to meet the gaze of the splendid dark-gray orbs that were shining down upon her. “My bonny love, I never wish to avoid you. In my darkest hour you are ever welcome to me,” answered the man-hater, in the soft tone and with the sweet smile she ever used in addressing this best-beloved of her soul. “Thank you! Thank you, dearest Britomarte!” Erminie exclaimed, kissing the hand of her friend. But, then growing grave, she added, “Oh, my dearest love, I am so sorry you are such an intense man-hater! Your wholesale hatred makes you so unjust! It is the one dark spot on the bright disc of your clear, warm, strong, sunlike nature! All men are not brutes, dearest Britomarte.” “Then they are imbeciles! There is but one division.” “What! Do you mean that all men are either brutes or idiots?” “All!” “Oh! Britomarte, how can you—can you—say so, dearest? You had a father!” Dark as a thundercloud grew the beautiful face of the amazon; harsh, curt and strange were the words of her reply. “Yes; I had a father with little claim upon my love, and less upon my honor. Never name him to me again.” Erminie was appalled. Britomarte stopped in her walk and sat down at the foot of a tree, as if overshadowed by some dark destiny. Erminie sank down at her feet and laid her head on her lap. Both were silent for a time, and the only sounds that broke the stillness were the whispering of the leaves above their heads, the hum of the insects around them, and the ripple of the river below. Erminie began to sob softly, while Britomarte laid her hand gently on her pet’s head.