“In fact,” continued Colonel Craighill, addressing his son, “you both understand that the house is really yours--I have only a life tenancy here--that was your mother’s wish and she so made her will. Maybe you don’t remember that this property was never mine. Your mother inherited a large tract of land up here from her father, and after I built the house the title remained in her name--the homestead will be yours, Wayne; your mother made it up to Fanny in other ways.” “I understand--but wouldn’t it be better for me to leave--for a time at least--after your marriage?” “No; I couldn’t think of that, and I’m sure Adelaide would be very uncomfortable if she felt you were being driven from home. And, moreover, you know how prone people are to gossip. It must not be said that my son left his father’s house through any act of mine.” “The old story of the cruel stepmother!” smiled Wayne; but his father went on gravely, as though to rebuke this levity. “There are ways in which you have been a great grief to me; I had not meant to speak of that, but Fanny has been a good sister to you and she knows the whole story. I should like you to remember--to remember that you are my son!” Wayne nodded, but did not speak. After a moment his father resumed, addressing them both. “I have known the lady I am to marry a comparatively short time, but I have become deeply attached to her. She is young, but that is not her fault”--and Colonel Craighill smiled--“or mine! Her father died when she was still a child, and she has lived abroad with her mother much of the time. She is of an old Vermont family. The marriage is to take place in a fortnight and by our own wish will be altogether simple and quiet. Please do not mention this; I have to go to Cleveland to-morrow for a day or two and I shall make the announcement when I return. I have thought to save your feelings and to prevent embarrassment all round by not asking either of you to the ceremony. We shall meet in New York and go quietly to Doctor McAllister’s residence--he is an old friend whom I have known long in church affairs--and we shall come home immediately. The name of the lady is Allen--Miss Adelaide Allen. I am sure you will learn to like her--that you and Fanny will see and appreciate the fine qualities in Miss Allen that have won my admiration and affection.” There was a moment’s silence when he concluded. The candle nearest him sputtered and he adjusted it carefully. Then Mrs. Blair rose and kissed him. “You sly old daddy!” she broke out; “and you never told a soul! Well”--and she seated herself again at the table and nibbled a bonbon--“tell us what she’s like, and her ways and her manners. I suppose, of course, she’s a teacher in one of your negro schools, or a foreign missionary or something noble like that! Tell us everything--everything----” and Mrs. Blair, elbows on table, denoted the breadth of her demand by an outward sweep of her hands from the wrists.