Ah! Marguerite Helmstedt! How could you presume to say: “The sins of her parents shall not be visited upon this child.” About nine o’clock the supper was served, and, while the company were crowding in to the supper table, Margaret called Franky aside and said: “Franky, the moonlight is bright upon the water; if you love me, dear Franky, take me home to mamma.” “Why, you do astound me, dear Margaret! What would the company say? Mother would never let you go.” “I must steal away unobserved, for, Franky, I am sick to return to mamma. Something draws me so strongly that I must and will go, even, if need be, alone--do you understand?” “I understand, dear Madge, that you inherit firmness from both sides of your house, and that it is of very little use to oppose your will; therefore, Margaret, I am at your orders.” “Thank you, dear Franky--now go and see that the boat is ready, while I run and put on my other shoes and shawl. We can go away quite unobserved, and when you return you can make my apologies and adieus to Mrs. Houston.” Franky obeyed her. And ten minutes after the youth and maiden were in _The Pearl Shell_, skimming over the moonlit waters toward the isle. Meanwhile Mrs. Helmstedt, when she had waved adieu to the young people on their way to the party and turned from them, did not go immediately home, but rambled up toward the north end of the island, and here she walked up and down the sands, watching absently the monotonous in-coming of the tide, or the leap and dip of the fish, or the slow sailing of some laggard water fowl through the evening air. As far as her eye could reach not a sail was visible in any direction; land and water was a scene of unbroken solitude for hours while she walked there. The sunset threw into deep shadow the long line of the opposite western shore, the sky grew dark, and still the sad recluse pursued her lonely monotonous walk. After awhile the full moon rose and changed the darkened bay into a sea of fluid silver, and shining full against the blackened western shore, changed it into a line of diamond light. Then Marguerite was aware of a sail making down the bay and bearing full upon the island. There was no reason for the feeling, but the approach of this packet filled the lady’s mind with a strange anxiety, alike impossible to explain or expel. The vessel anchored near the isle and sent out a boat, manned by two sailors, and containing a third person, apparently a passenger. The boat rowed rapidly toward the very spot upon which the lady stood watching. In five minutes it touched the sands, and the passenger, a gentleman of about fifty years of age, stepped ashore, and, walking up to Marguerite, bowed respectfully and inquired: “Will you be so good as to inform me, madam, whether Mrs. Helmstedt is at present at home.” But as the stranger approached, Marguerite had grown pale, and now, leaning against a pine tree for support, exclaimed in a faint tone: “My God, has it come at last?”