“Vue de l’Eau is a grand place, Mr. Mapleson, and I think anybody ought to be happy there,” the old lady observed; “and I’m sure,” she added, with an appreciative glance, “it was very good of you to call upon your father’s old friend. I do not see many young people nowadays.” Everet colored slightly at this reference to his visit, and it made it a trifle awkward for him, since he did not like to tell her outright, after that, that a selfish interest alone had brought him there. He bowed, and murmured something about being partial to elderly people; and then, after chatting a while longer upon indifferent topics, he asked her, casually, if she had known the Dales, with whom the Maplesons were distantly connected. “Bless your heart! yes; I knew them as well as I knew my own brothers and sisters,” replied Miss Southern, her eyes lighting with interest. “I suppose you are more particularly interested in Robert Dale, who was to have had the whole of the Mapleson fortune if your father and mother had not married according to the conditions of Jabez Mapleson’s will.” “Well, yes. I am interested in him; but he had a brother named Henry, hadn’t he?” Everet asked. “Yes; Robert and Henry Dale were brothers, and were left orphans when they were about twelve and fourteen years of age. After completing their education, they both started in life with a comfortable fortune, for their father died a rich man. Henry was all business, and went at once to speculating, determined to increase his patrimony; while Robert, who was a great student, settled quietly down to his studies, content with what he had. But, unfortunately, both fell in love with the same girl, Nannie Davenport, and she was about the sweetest girl that I ever knew. She, however, preferred the gay, dashing Henry, and Robert never forgave neither his brother for being his successful rival, nor her for marrying him. It just ruined his life, for he withdrew from all society, made a recluse of himself, in fact, and finally ended his days in a little stone hut not far from your own house, young gentleman.” “Yes, so I have been told,” Everet replied, “and I intend to visit the place some day soon. But what became of the other brother?” “Poor Henry was unfortunate in his speculations; he lost every dollar of his money, and though he struggled along for a few years, he finally died, broken-hearted, leaving his wife and child almost destitute.” “This child was a daughter, I have heard, and there is some romantic story connected with her, I believe,” interposed Everet, who could hardly restrain his impatience to learn Annie Dale’s history. “Yes, yes; I will tell you all about it, only you must let me do it in my own way, if you please,” returned Miss Southern, who, like many other garrulous old ladies, did not enjoy being interrupted.