"What! a little country girl like me?" cried Jewel, with sparkling eyes; and he saw that she was delighted at the compliment, and told himself that this was the very best thing he could have thought of--inviting her to his home. In society she would see so many handsome men she would get over her penchant for him. "And I am going abroad again, anyway. I could not bear a quiet life now. I must seek oblivion in strange scenes and a new life," he thought, sighing, as he left her and went out into the grounds, where everything reminded him so vividly of his little, lost love. Alas! she was gone now from those scenes that her fairy form had brightened, and the low murmur of the sea, as it rolled with a sullen murmur in to the shore, tortured him with the thought that it held her in its cruel embrace. "For the heart of the waters is cruel, And the kisses are dire of their lips, And their waves are as fire is to fuel To the strength of the sea-faring ships, Though the sea's eye gleam as a jewel To the sun's eye back as he dips." "Who would have dreamed," he thought, "last summer, that such a tragedy would have overtaken this little family? The mother insane, one daughter dead, the other restless and unhappy because of an unhappy love! Poor Jewel! she is indeed bereaved!" he thought, as he walked down a graveled path toward the rear of the house, to get away from the sorrowful sound of the ever-restless sea. And as his walk took him quite near the servants' quarters, he suddenly came face to face with old Maria's relict, Sam, whom he had never seen since that night last summer when he had sent him to carry that letter to Flower. At first the mulatto looked sheepish and inclined to retreat; but, seeing Laurie's hand go into his pocket, he turned back, and was presented with a bright silver dollar, for which he returned profuse thanks. "Ah, Sam, no more letters to carry now. She is dead, poor Flower!" sighed the young man, sorrowfully, and the mulatto gave him a strange glance, and replied, resentfully: "Yes, she's dead, and it's your fault, too, Mr. Meredith! What made you sneak off and leave poor Maria's nuss child to bear her shame and disgrace by herself?" "Shame and disgrace!" the young man repeated, bewilderedly, and Sam looked around, and seeing no one near, whispered: "Guess no one hain't told you about my dream, has they, now?" "No," Laurie answered, wondering if Sam were drunk or crazy, yet submitting to be drawn aside into a convenient arbor, where the story of Sam's return with his bride that fateful night was quickly told. Laurie Meredith's pale face grew whiter and more haggard still, and Sam, seeing it, added, quickly: "But 'twan't nuthin' but a dream, sir, or a warnin' o' her death, for she were dead and drowndid then, pore gal!" "But, Sam, there could have been nothing like that--a child, I mean--Flower would have written to me!" he exclaimed, incoherently.