His tone was infinitely sad, and as he spoke, he leaned his cheek against the kind hand he held, as if to find support and comfort there. The girl's face brightened beautifully, though her eyes filled, for to her alone did he betray his pain, and in her alone did he seek consolation. “I will, I will with heart and hand! Thank heaven for the hope, and trust me it shall be fulfilled. You look very tired, Maurice. Why go in to dinner with all those people? Let me make you cozy here,” she added anxiously. “Thanks, I'd rather go in, it does me good; and if I stay away, Jasper feels that he must stay with me. I dressed in haste, am I right, little nurse?” She gave him a comprehensive glance, daintily settled his cravat, brushed back a truant lock, and, with a maternal air that was charming, said, “My boy is always elegant, and I'm proud of him. Now we'll go in.” But with her hand on the curtain she paused, saying quickly, as a voice reached her, “Who is that?” “Frank Annon. Didn't you know he was coming?” Maurice eyed her keenly. “No, Jasper never told me. Why did he ask him?” “To please you.” “Me! When he knows I detest the man. No matter, I've got on the color he hates, so he won't annoy me, and Mrs. Snowdon can amuse herself with him. The general has come, you know?” Treherne smiled, well pleased, for no sign of maiden shame or pleasure did the girl's face betray, and as he watched her while she peeped, he thought with satisfaction, Annon is right, _I_ have the advantage, and I'll keep it at all costs. “Here is Mamma. We must go in,” said Octavia, as a stately old lady made her appearance in the drawing room. The cousins entered together and Annon watched them covertly, while seemingly intent on paying his respects to Madame Mère, as his hostess was called by her family. “Handsomer than ever,” he muttered, as his eye rested on the blooming girl, looking more like a rose than ever in the peach-colored silk which he had once condemned because a rival admired it. She turned to reply to the major, and Annon glanced at Treherne with an irrepressible frown, for sickness had not marred the charm of that peculiar face, so colorless and thin that it seemed cut in marble; but the keen eyes shone with a wonderful brilliancy, and the whole countenance was alive with a power of intellect and will which made the observer involuntarily exclaim, “That man must suffer a daily martyrdom, so crippled and confined; if it last long he will go mad or die.” “General and Mrs. Snowden,” announced the servant, and a sudden pause ensued as everyone looked up to greet the newcomers.