As Graham rode up the gravel path which led to the house, he caught a glimpse of a tall, slender figure swaying out from the gloom of the piazza. A white, bare arm was stretched upward to pluck a bunch of roses from a vine twisted about the porch. Thus much he saw and nothing more, as he fastened his horse and mounted to the piazza, which had suddenly become tenantless. The house door stood hospitably open, and the young man entered the hall and passed into the library. The soft candle-light showed him the room and its one occupant, the woman whom he had seen dimly amid the climbing roses an instant before. Evidently she had not known that the hoof-beats on the road were bringing a guest; for she was kneeling upon the hearth, her graceful shoulders bent, her strong white arms steadily working a pair of bellows. The total depravity of inanimate things is never more clearly seen than in the case of a wood-fire that refuses to burn. The girl, after several unavailing efforts to rouse a flame from the smouldering mass of embers, deliberately took the fire to pieces and rebuilt it after another fashion, putting a handful of pine cones atop of the logs, and setting them alight with a roll of paper. At last she succeeded in starting the blaze, and, stretching her graceful length upon the deerskin rug, she rested her elbows on the low bench before the fender, and lay quite silent, her face supported by her hands, her dark eyes looking into the fire. John Graham, who had watched from the doorway every movement of the unconscious young woman with the pleasure of an artist in all things which are graceful and beautiful, still stood silent, giving no sign of his presence. The warm, pleasant interior, with its comfortable easy chairs and sofas, its open piano, near which stood a work-basket, its shelves of books and vases of flowers, bore all the infallible indications which mark the inmost shrine of domestic life. This was a room where the members of the household lived. Here was a home, the centre of affection and hospitality. The shadow of the lonely old man and his desolate dwelling rose for a moment before his eyes, and at that thought he stepped forward as if irresistibly drawn toward the cheerful hearth and the graceful woman whose eyes were lighted by the dancing flames. There was a tender look about his mouth, usually so stern in expression, as he came forward into the firelight with an expectant countenance, as if he were about to meet an old friend. Hearing the footsteps, the girl without turning her head said,-- "Well, Barbara, here you see me, making myself comfortable on Graham’s deerskin. It has just come home; is it not a beauty?"