Not long after Mrs. West called “dinner” from the dining-room. James and Henry arose from their respective easy chairs, laboriously and stiffly, and slowly sought their places at the table. Mrs. West also stood behind her chair waiting for the occupants of the other places. James thought he heard a suppressed giggle at the door, but did not face about. Henry had just noticed that two places were still vacant, and his slight curiosity was immediately relieved by two very tall, beautiful, smiling women advancing into the room. James was about to request his tardy sister to hasten, when, by half turning, he came face to face with Berenice Morton. So completely was he surprised that he could not speak a word. She advanced and held up her hand, which he grasped in both his own as he whispered—“Bee!” Bess laughingly pulled her aside, and leading her over to the other side of the table waited an instant for Mrs. West to introduce the stranger to her son. Berenice returned the firm pressure of the man’s hand as she smiled frankly into his deep eyes. The tempting viands were being shamefully ignored. One girl was too busy with her merry jests, while another could scarcely answer all the interrogatives which were being hurled at her by James. Mrs. West wondered at her son’s loss of appetite and softly asked if he were ill. Sick? Yes! Heart-sick—miserably, utterly, hopelessly heart-sick. Ill with the pain that knows no healing—with a pain that knows no balm! With an enforced smile he assured his mother that he was only tired, and made an effort to join in the merry conversation. “You two ‘boys’ must not plan a single thing for the next few weeks, except to ‘pack’ us girls about. Don’t you say so, too, ‘little Mother’?” laughed Bess, as they arose from the dinner table. “That is, of course, if you can endure me so long, Henry; for you can plainly see by that,” pointing to the pair already departing through the doorway, “that I shall need dreadfully to have some one be a little kind to me, also,” she added, with sweetly pouting lips. His impulse was to reply that he wished he might be kind always, but instead he remarked jocosely: “Perhaps—I may manage—Bess—to ‘endure’ you. I shall gladly help to entertain your friend in any way I may.” “Come, Henry,” said Bess, after she had assisted in clearing the dining-table, “Berenice shall play and I will sing for you and for James.” Song after song was sung—music, soft and tender, came from the gentle touch of the girl at the piano. Bright, glowing coals were gleaming in the grate where before were snapping brands. Pale moonlight filtered through the curtains and filled the room with soft, luminous light. Silence settled upon all, and each, unconscious of the others, was deeply absorbed in thought. “The place for dreaming is in bed. Come, my children; it is late and growing cold,” said Mrs. West.