“If _Will_ were only here, it would be the happiest day I ever knew,” Rose said, as, seating herself on Tom’s knee with her chubby arm around his neck, she asked him numerous questions concerning her absent husband. Then, as she saw in him signs of weariness she said, “You are tired, I know. Suppose you go to your room till dinner-time. It’s the one right at the head of the stairs,” she continued, and glad of an opportunity to rest, Tom went to the room where Annie Graham just then chanced to be. She had discovered that the servant had neglected to supply the rack with towels, and so she had brought them herself, lingering a moment after they were arranged, to see if everything were in order. She did not hear Tom’s step, until he opened the door upon her, and uttered an exclamation of surprise and apology. He had no idea who the little black-robed figure was, for though he knew the wife of George Graham was an inmate of his sister’s family, he had her in his mind as a very different person from this one before him. Mrs. Graham was young, he supposed, and possibly good-looking, but she did not bear the stamp of refinement and elegance which this graceful creature did, and fancying he had made a mistake and stumbled into the apartment of some city visitor, he was about to withdraw, when Annie came toward him, saying: “Excuse me, sir, I came in to see that all was right in your room. Mr. Carleton, I presume?” This last Annie spoke doubtingly, for in the tall, handsome stranger before her there was scarcely a vestige of the “greyish haired, oldish, fatherly-looking man” she had in fancy known as Captain Carleton, and but for the eyes, so much like Mrs. Mather’s, and the unmistakable Carleton curve about the mouth, she would never have dreamed that it was _Tom_ to whom she was speaking. As it was, she waited for him to confirm her suspicions, which he did by bowing in the affirmative to her interrogation, “Mr. Carleton, I presume?” Then holding the door for her to pass out, he stood watching her till she disappeared at the extreme end of the hall, wondering who she was, and why a mere visitor should take so much interest in his room. Once he thought of Annie Graham; but this could not be a widow, though the deep mourning dress told of recent bereavement. Still Annie Graham was a different personage, he knew; and thus perplexed, Tom, instead of resting, commenced his toilet for dinner, determining, as soon as it was completed, to go down and have the mystery unravelled.