“Look on the bright side; your father may have been saved just as we were, and you may soon be reunited.” “I fear not. He had a presentiment of death, I believe, for he sent messages as from the dying to his friends in New York,” she sighed. “Still, I would not give up hope. Many people have been known to survive terrible accidents,” he replied, and she wondered if he was thinking of all that had happened to him and Cora. She sighed, and began to strum softly on the guitar some one had offered for her accompaniments. Then she sang, and the tremor in her voice made it all the sweeter. They hung spellbound on the liquid notes sweet as the nightingale. “It is another Melba!” they cried in delight, but some were hushed into silence, their very heartstrings stirred by the divine strains. When she stopped at last, all were clamorous for more, but she pleaded weariness. A low voice murmured in her ear: “Just one more, please--the song you sang for your father the night I first saw you.” “I must have sung several,” she replied, and he answered: “‘Love, I will love you ever!’” The significant earnestness of the tone and words made her heart throb so quickly that the blood mantled her cheek with crimson. She made no answer, just swept the strings and sang the sweet old song, while his heart kept echoing the tender refrain: “Love, I will love you ever, Love, I will leave you never, Faithful and true, Ever to me precious to be, Heart bound to heart, Never to part, Love, I will love you ever!” She paused, and no one ventured to ask her to sing again. They wished to keep the last sweet strain in their hearts. She turned her face up to the starry sky, and little by little they fell away from her side, comprehending that she preferred to be alone. Soon no one was left but Laurier, and for some little time he kept silence. It was enough to be near her, to gaze on the lovely face upturned to the moonlit sky, to breathe the same air with her, and to wonder of what she was thinking with that pensive curve on her crimson lips, whether of her dead father, or a possible lover. He started while a twinge of jealousy tore through his heart like red-hot iron. A lover! Oh, how he hated the thought! Then another thought came to vex him. To-morrow they would be parted. She was going out of his life to unknown friends. And she had shown no disposition to continue her acquaintance with him beyond to-morrow. Could he bear to lose her thus? Life would be unutterably dreary without this beautiful girl who had come into his life so strangely, and was about to fade from it so soon. His heart leaped with great, suffocating throbs. He must speak, must know his fate! He leaned closer to her till their heads almost touched, the brown, curly one, and the wavy, golden-tressed one. “Jessie,” he faltered. She started violently, and turned her face inquiringly toward him, as he continued: