Now, during the month that Margaret had passed at the Point, Ralph had gradually removed his personal effects from this wing, had caused both parlor and chamber to be newly papered, painted, and furnished, and then expressed his wish that upon his departure for the Northern frontier the whole wing, as the most separated, beautiful and desirable portion of the establishment, might be given up to the exclusive use of his affianced bride. Mrs. Houston consented, with the proviso that he should not vacate the rooms until the hour of his departure for camp. Accordingly, the first evening of Margaret’s arrival she had been accommodated with a pleasant chamber on the second-floor front of the main building. But on Tuesday morning, after Mr. Helmstedt and Ralph Houston had departed, Mrs. Houston and her maids went busily to work and refreshed the two pretty rooms of the wing, hanging white lace curtains to the windows, white lace valances to the toilet table and tester, etc., and transfiguring the neatly-kept bachelor’s apartments into a lady’s charming little boudoir and bedchamber. When all was arranged, even to the fresh flowers in the white vases upon the front room mantelpiece, and the choice books from Mrs. Houston’s own private library upon the center table, the busy little lady, in her eagerness to surprise and please, hurried away to seek Margaret and introduce her to her delightful apartments. She tripped swiftly and softly up the stairs, and into the room, where she surprised Margaret, quite absorbed in some work at her writing-desk. “Oh, you are busy! Whom are you writing to, my dear?” she inquired eagerly, hastening to the side of the girl and looking over her shoulder. She meant nothing, or next to nothing--it was her heedless, impulsive way. She was in a hurry, and did not stop to remember that the question was rude, even when Margaret, with a sudden blush, reversed her sheet of paper, and, keeping her hand pressed down upon it, arose in agitation. “Why, how startled you are, my dear! How nervous you must be! I ought not to have come upon you so suddenly. But to whom are you writing, my dear?” “To--a--correspondent, Mrs. Houston.” “Why, just look there now! See what a good hand I am at guessing, for I even judged as much! But who is your correspondent then, my dear?” “A--friend! Mrs. Houston.” “Good, again! I had imagined so, since you have no enemies, my child. But who then is this friend, you little rustic? You have not even acquaintances to write letters to, much less friends, unless it is Franky! Ah, by the way, don’t write to Franky, Margaret! He could not bear it now.” Margaret made no comment, and Mrs. Houston, growing uneasy upon the subject of Franky, said: “I hope you are not writing to Franky, Margaret!” “No, Mrs. Houston, I am not.”