The sound of quick footsteps broke upon her ear, and a gentleman came into view. She rather wondered who it was; whether anyone was coming to call on her father. "Jane! Jane!" With a faint cry, she fell into the arms opened to receive her--those of Valentine Chandler. He went away, a ne'er-do-well, three years ago, shattered in health, shaken in spirit; he had returned a healthy, hearty man, all his parts about him. Yes, Valentine had turned over a new leaf from the moment he touched the Canadian shores. He had put his shoulder to the wheel in earnest, had persevered and prospered. And now he had a profitable farm of his own, and a pretty house upon it, all in readiness for Jane. "We have heard from time to time that you were doing well," she said, with a sob of joy. "Oh, Valentine, how good it is! To have done it all yourself!" "Not altogether myself, Jane," he answered. "I did my best, and God sent His blessing upon it." Jane no longer felt the night cold, the wind bleak, or remembered that her mother was waiting for the parcel. They paced the old wilderness of a garden, arm locked within arm. There was something in the windy night to put them in mind of that other night: the night of their parting, when Valentine had sung his song of farewell, and bade her remember him though rolling ocean placed its bounds between them. They had been faithful to one another. Seated on the bench, under the walnut tree, the very spot on which poor Oliver had sat after that rush home from his fatal visit to Mr. Paul's office at Islip, Jane ventured to say a word about Juliet, and, to her surprise, found that Valentine knew nothing. "I have not heard any news yet, Jane," he said. "I came straight to you from the station. Presently I shall go back to astonish Aunt Mary Ann. Why? What about Juliet?" Jane enlightened him by degrees, giving him one particular after another. Valentine listening in silence to the end. "I don't believe it." "Don't believe it!" exclaimed Jane. "Not a syllable of it." "But what do you mean? What don't you believe?" "That Juliet threw herself into the pond. My dear, she is not the kind of girl to do it; she'd no more do such a thing than I should." "Oh, Val! It is true the drags brought up nothing but eels; but----" "Of course they didn't. There's nothing but eels there to bring up." "Then where can Juliet be?--what is the mystery?" dissented Jane. "What became of her?" "That I don't know. Rely upon it, Janey, she is not there. She'd never jump into that cold pond. How long ago is this?" "Nearly a month. Three weeks last Thursday." "Ah," said Valentine. "Well, I'll see if I can get to the bottom of it."