"That I grant thee. Elizabeth informs me that thee has had a good account from himself as to his means and respectability. But thee has not verified it." "Verified it!" repeated Dolly. "Thee has not taken steps to ascertain that the account he gives is true. How does thee know it to be so?" Dolly's face flushed. "As if he would deceive me! You do not know him, Miss Deavor." "Nay, child, I wish not to cast undeserved aspersion on him. But thee should ask for proof that what he tells thee is correct. Before thee ties thyself to him for life, Dorothy, thee will do well to get some friend to make inquiries in London. It is my best advice to thee, child; and it is what Mary Ann Grape, thy mother, would have done before giving thee to him." Dolly thanked Miss Deavor and went away. The advice was well meant, of course; she felt that; but quite needless. Suspect Alick Mapping of deceit! Dolly would rather have suspected herself. And she did nothing. The morning of the wedding-day arrived in due course. Dolly was attiring herself for the ceremony in a pretty new grey gown, her straw bonnet trimmed with white satin lying on the bed (to resume her black on the morrow), when Elizabeth Deavor came in. "I have something to say to thee, Dolly," she began, in a grave tone. "I hardly knew whether to speak to thee or not, feeling not altogether sure of the thing myself, so I asked Aunt Rachel, and she thinks thee ought to be told." "What is it?" cried Dolly. "I think I saw thy brother Tom last night." The words gave Dolly a curious shock. She fell back in a chair. "I will relate it to thee," said Elizabeth. "Last evening I was at Aunt Rachel's window above-stairs, when I saw a boy in dark clothes standing on the pavement outside, just opposite thy gate. It was a bright night, as thee knows. He had his arms folded and stood quite still, gazing at this house. The moonlight shone on his face and I thought how much it was like poor lost Tom's. He still stood on; so I went downstairs and stepped to our gate, to ask whether he was in want of any one: and then, Dolly, I felt queerer than I ever felt in my life, for I saw that it was Tom. At least, I thought so." "Did he speak?" gasped Dolly. "He neither spoke nor answered me: he turned off, and went quickly down the road. I think it was Tom; I do indeed." "What am I to do?" cried Dolly. "Oh, if I could but find him!" "There's nothing to do, that we can see," answered the young Quakeress. "I have talked it over with Aunt Rachel. It would appear as though he did not care to show himself: else, if it were truly thy brother, why did he not come in? I will look out for him every night and speak to him if he appears again. I promise thee that, Dolly." "Why do you say 'appears,' Elizabeth?" cried the girl. "You think it was himself, do you not; not his--his spirit?" "Truly, I can but conclude it was himself."