But the more he reflected, the more he became puzzled, for there seemed to be no rational interpretation to a dream so fraught with contradictions, and split up into separate portions, which seemed to have no agreement with each other. ‘It is one of those jumbled visions caused by excitement and champagne,’ said he—‘late hours caused it; but I must give up late hours and be more steady—’ he paused, for he knew in the secret of his heart that he should hail the appearance of Blodget with pleasure, and that he had more than once looked at the sun declining in the West. Once, at least, he must solace himself with beauty. The hour had nearly arrived for leaving off all business, and shutting up store, when Mr. Brown, who had been absent a couple of hours, thrust a note into Monteagle’s hand. He opened it and read— ‘Friend M,—Unexpected business will prevent me from waiting on you this evening, as was agreed upon. To-morrow night I shall be free to attend you. _Ever yours, BLODGET.’_ ‘The deuce!’ cried the youth, ‘then I will go alone.’ He paused, and smiled as he remembered the good resolution he had been on the point of forming when he had no doubt of Blodget’s coming. The feeling of disappointment which he experienced convinced him that it would be no easy matter to put his good resolution in practice. He slowly crawled over the hill toward the house of Mr. Vandewater. When he sat down to supper with the family, he observed that Julia was in much better spirits than usual. Instead of regarding him with that heavy, mournful look that had been habitual to her for some months past, he caught her in glancing covertly towards him several times, with sparkling eyes and something like a glow of excitement on her cheeks. ‘Mr. Brown called this afternoon, I understand,’ remarked Vandewater in the course of conversation. ‘Yes, sir,’ returned his lady; ‘he made himself very agreeable to your hopeful young lady here.’ ‘Now aunt, you are provoking,’ said Julia, with an ill-concealed smile of pleasure. ‘I was thinking if he was a jug what a fine handle his huge Roman nose would make.’ Vandewater roared as usual on such occasions. Monteagle smiled. A thought, however, had instantly struck him. He knew that Brown was a great talker, and like many great talkers, often said those things to his listeners which he thought would interest them rather than those things which were founded in fact. He imagined that in the glances which Julia had given him, at the supper table, there was a look of triumph as well as pleasure. Could it be that Brown, knowing Julia’s secret, had made up a story about himself—had told her that Monteagle was truly in love with her, but only played shy for fear of the uncle? Was it not quite possible that Brown had misunderstood the doctor; and that he believed Vandewater was opposed to the match, and had advised his niece to conquer her passion on _that_ account, instead of doing it because her passion was hopeless?