It was a very select party which Wilford Cameron entertained that evening; and as the carriages rolled to his door and deposited the guests, the cloud which had been lifting ever since he came home and found “no Barlow woman” there, disappeared, leaving him the blandest, most urbane of hosts, pleased with everybody—himself, his guests, his sister-in-law, and his wife, who had never looked better than she did to-night, in pearls and light blue silk, which harmonized so perfectly with her wax-like complexion. Aunt Betsy’s proximity was wholly unsuspected, both by her and Helen, who was very handsome, in crimson and black, with lilies in her hair. Nothing could please Mark better than his seat at table, where he could look into her eyes, which dropped so shyly whenever they met his gaze. Helen was beginning to doubt the story of his engagement with Juno. Certainly she could not mistake the nature of the attentions he paid to her, especially to-night, when he hovered continually near her, totally ignoring Juno’s presence, and conscious apparently of only one form, one face, and that the face and form of Helen Lennox. There was another, too, who felt the influence of Helen’s beauty, and that was Lieutenant Bob, who, after dinner, attached himself to her side, while around them gathered quite a group, all listening with peals of laughter as Bob related his adventure of two days before, with “the most rustic and charming old lady it was ever his fortune to meet.” Told by Bob the story lost nothing of its freshness; for every particular, except indeed the kindness he had shown her, was related, even to the _sheep-pasture_, about which she was going to New York to consult a lawyer. “I thought once of referring her to you, Mr. Cameron,” Bob said; “but couldn’t find it in my heart to quiz her, she was so wholly unsuspicious. You have not seen her, have you?” “No,” came faintly from the lips which tried to smile; but Wilford knew who was the heroine of that story; wondering more and more where she was, and feeling a sensation of uneasiness, as he thought, “Can any accident have befallen her?” It was hardly probable; but Wilford felt very uncomfortable after hearing the story, which had brought a pang of doubt and fear to another mind than his. From the very first Helen feared that Aunt Betsy was the “odd woman” who had gotten upon the train at some station which Bob could not remember; while, as the story progressed, she was sure of it, for she had heard of the sheep-pasture trouble, and of Aunt Betsy’s projected visit to New York, privately writing to her mother not to suffer it, as Wilford would be greatly vexed. “Yes, it must be Aunt Betsy,” she thought, and she turned so white that Mark, who was watching both her and Wilford, came as soon as possible to her side, and adroitly separating her from the group around, said softly, “You look tired, Miss Lennox. Come with me a moment. I have something to tell you.”