"Mr. Browning! _Thunder!_ Just as though I was my uncle!" cried a familiar voice, and looking at the speaker, Rosamond recognized _Ben Van Vechten!_ He had come to Riverside the day previous, he said, and hearing she was expected, had waited at the depot four mortal hours, and then returned in disgust. "But how did you know me?" she asked, and he replied, "By your daguerreotype, of course. There is but one such beautiful face in the whole world." He was disposed to be complimentary, and Rosamond was not sorry when his mother appeared, for in her presence he was tolerably reserved. Mrs. Van Vechten greeted Rosamond politely, but the old hauteur was there, and her manner seemed to say, "If you are educated and refined, I can't forget that you were once my waiting-maid." "Where is Mr. Browning?" asked Rosamond, and _Ben_ replied, "Oh, up in his den having the shakes. He mopes there all the time. Can't you break him of the blues?" "I'll go and try," answered Rosamond, and she started up the stairs, followed by Ben, whose mother called him back, bidding him, in a low voice, "stay where he was, and not make a fool of himself." She could trust her _brother_, but not her _son_, and she thus did the former the greatest favor she could have done--she let him meet young Rosamond Leyton alone. The evening was quite chilly for July, and, as, since the receipt of Miss Porter's note, Mr. Browning had seemed rather agueish, there was a fire burning in the grate, and it cast its shadows upon him as he sat in his accustomed chair. His back was toward the door, and he knew nothing of Rosamond's return until two, soft, white hands were placed before his eyes, and a voice which tried to be unnatural, said "Guess who I am." "Rosamond--darling--have you come back to me again?" he exclaimed, and starting up, he wound his arm about her, and looked into her face, expecting, momentarily, to hear her say, "Yes, I know it all." But Rosamond did not say so. She merely told him how glad she was to be at home once more, in her delight forgetting that Marie Porter had said she loved the man who held her closely to his side and smoothed her wavy hair even while his heart throbbed painfully with memories of the past and trembled for the future. He longed to speak of her room- mate, but he dared not betray his knowledge of her existence, and he sat there waiting, yet dreading to hear the hated name. "Did you room alone?" he asked at last, and now remembering the words, "You do love him," Rosamond moved quickly from his side. "She does know," he thought, and a silent moan of anguish died upon his lips. But Rosamond did not know--the movement was actuated by mere maidenly reserve, and sitting down directly opposite him, she told him of Miss Porter, whom she said she liked so well. "How much of an invalid is she?" asked Mr. Browning, when he could trust his voice to speak.