“You are in error, fair little mother; I neither could, nor would supplant any man, least of all my brother; no such attachment as that to which you allude exists, or has existed; I have ascertained that fact.” But Nellie angrily averted her head without deigning to reply. And Ralph, although he had so positively repudiated all belief in the groundless assertions of his stepmother, nevertheless felt a deep uneasiness impossible to dislodge. A single seed of distrust had been sown in his heart, where it was destined to germinate and to be fostered into strong and bitter growth. In the midst of this conversation the family were interrupted by the entrance of Jessie Bell--as she was familiarly and jocosely called, Jezebel--Mrs. Houston’s maid, who reported a messenger from the island waiting without. “Let him come in here,” said Colonel Houston; and the next moment Uncle Ben entered with a face so gray and corrugated that Mrs. Houston and Ralph became alarmed, and simultaneously exclaimed: “Why, old man! what is the matter?” “Marster in heaven knows, ma’am! but I think my mistess is dying!” “Dying!” Every member of the family were now upon their feet, exclaiming and questioning in a chaos of surprise, grief, and dismay. “Yes, ma’am, very suddint! No, sir, dere was no good come of it, as we dem knew. Yes, Marse Ralph, sir, Miss Marget is with her ma, an’ very much ’stress,” said the old man, answering right and left to the storm of questions that was hailed upon him. “I’ll tell you all I know ’bout it, Marse Colonel Houston, sir, if de ladies’ll hush an’ listen a minute. See, las’ night I fotch de mail home ’s usual. Der was a letter from our marster as pleased our mistress very much. I never seen her in sitch sperrits--she, nor Miss Marget! We sarvints, we all noticed it, and said how something was gwine happen. Same way dis mornin’, Miss Marget and her mother both in sitch sperrits at the breakfas’ table. After breakfas’ dey went out long o’ me in de garden, to ’rect me ’bout transplantin’ some late flowers, and we were all busy, when all of a suddint mistess give a short, low scream, and when we all looked up, there stood mistress as white as a lily, pressing her hand to her heart and staring straight before her. We glanced roun’ to see what scared she; and it was a little, old, leaky boat with one oar, and a young man in a shabby uniform, like a runaway sojer, just stepping from it onto the beach. He came up while mistess stood there pale as death and pressing her hand on her heart; and he tetched his cap sort o’ half impident and half sorrowful. Mistess raised her hand for a minit as if to check him, and then she beckoned him to follow her, and went on to the house. Miss Marget looked oneasy, an’ I didn’t know what to make of it. More’n two hours passed, and then the young man came out, walking fast, with his head down, and passed right by without seeing us, and got into his