"Mr. Varrick," he cried hoarsely, "let me beg of you to reconsider your words. Only try me again. Let me make a new set of drawings to submit to you. It would ruin my reputation if you were to send this message to the firm, for they have hitherto placed much confidence in my work." "You will leave the house at once," he said, "and send a much older man, I repeat, to continue the work." The poor fellow fairly staggered from the drawing-room. He could not imagine why, in one short hour, he had dropped from heaven to the very depths of Hades, as it were. Varrick breathed freely when he saw him leave the house and walk slowly down the lilac-bordered path and out through the arched gate-way. A little later Jessie came flying into the library. Varrick was still seated at the table, poring over his books. "Where is Mr. Moray--do you know?" she asked, quickly--"I want to return him a paper he loaned me this morning. I have been looking everywhere for him, but can not find him. There is something in the paper that you would like to hear about too." "Sit down on this hassock, Jessie, and read it to me," he said. "Oh, no! You want to make fun of me," she pouted, "and see me get puzzled over all the big words. Please read it yourself, Mr. Varrick." "Suppose you tell me the substance of it, and that will save me reading it," he said. "Oh, I can do that. There isn't so much to tell. It's about a fire last night on one of the little islands in the St. Lawrence. No doubt you have heard of the place--Wau-Winet Island. The mysterious stone house that was on it has been burned to the ground. The owner was away at the time. It is supposed that everyone else on the island perished in the flames." Hubert Varrick listened with interest, but he never dreamed how vitally, in the near future, this catastrophe would concern him. He thought of his strange visit to that place, and that no doubt the owner was none too sorry to see it laid to ashes, as he had acknowledged that it had caused him much annoyance owing to the uncanny rumors floating about that the place was haunted by a young and beautiful woman whose spirit would not be laid. Then, in talking to Jessie during the next half hour he entirely forgot the fire that had occurred on that far-away island in the St. Lawrence. He broached the subject that the architect had gone for good, narrowly watching Jessie's pretty face as he told her. "Oh! I am so sorry," she declared, disappointedly, "for he was such a nice young man; and in his spare moments he had promised to teach me to sketch;" and her lovely face clouded. "Would not I do as well?" asked Hubert Varrick, gently, as his hand closed over the little white one so near his own. The girl trembled beneath his touch. In that one moment her heart went from her, and she experienced the sweet elysium of a young life just awakening to love's bewildering dream.