"Yes, Stella, I am back," he said; there was a sad weariness in his voice, and he looked haggard and tired. "And"--he hesitated, and put his hand on the boy's shoulder--"I have brought someone with me. This--is Frank," he hesitated again, "my son." Stella suppressed a start, and smiled up at him as if the announcement were one of the most natural. "I am so glad," she whispered. He nodded. "Yes, yes," and his gaze wandered to the face of the boy who stood looking at them with a little faint smile, half timid, half uneasy. "Frank has come to stop with us for a time. He is going to the university." "Yes," said Stella, again. She felt that there was some mystery, felt that the boy was connected in some way with that telegram and the hurried visit to town, and with her characteristic gentleness and tact hastened to smooth matters. "I'll go and see if Mrs. Penfold has made proper arrangements," she said. Mr. Etheridge looked after her as she went into the house; the boy's voice startled him. "How beautiful she is!" he murmured, a faint flush on his cheek, a light of boyish admiration in his eyes. "I didn't know I had such a beautiful cousin, so----" "No," said the old man, warmly. "Go on, Frank. Wait." The boy paused and Mr. Etheridge put his hand on his shoulder. "She is as good as she is beautiful. She is an angel, Frank. I need not say that she knows--nothing." The boy's face flushed, then went pale, and his eyes drooped. "Thank you, sir," he said, gratefully. "No," and he shuddered, "I wouldn't have her know for--for the world." Then he went in. Stella was flitting about the room seeing the laying of a cloth for an impromptu meal. He paused at the window as if afraid to approach or disturb her, but she saw him and came to him with that peculiar little graceful gait which her uncle had noticed so particularly on the first night of her coming. "I am so glad you have come!" she said. "Uncle must be glad, too!" "Yes," he said, in a low voice. "You are glad, really glad!" Her beautiful eyes opened, and she smiled. "Very glad. You must come in and have some supper. It is quite ready," and she went and called her uncle. The old man came in and sat down. The boy waited until she pointed to a chair, into which he dropped obediently. Mr. Etheridge offered no explanation of his visit to London, and she asked for none; but while he sat with his usual silent, dreamy taciturnity, she talked to him. Frank sat and listened, scarcely taking his eyes off her. Presently Mr. Etheridge looked up. "Where have you been this evening, Stella?" he asked. A sudden blush covered her face, but though Frank saw it, his father did not. "I have been into the woods," she said, "to the river." He nodded. "Very beautiful. The witches' trysting-place, they call it," he added, absently. Stella's face paled, and she hung her head. "You were rather late, weren't you?"