She clung about his neck weeping from very excess of happiness. "Oh, I have wanted you so much, so much!" she cried. "I thought you would never come! I wish you would never go away again." He folded her close to his heart with tenderest caresses, then held her off that he might gaze into her blooming face, drinking in its loveliness with feelings of mingled joy and anguish. It was and yet was not the little pet sister he had left when he went away; she stood on the verge of womanhood now, innocent and fair, with a sweet blending of childish and womanly graces. Ah, must that deadly curse fall on her? He shuddered at the thought, and almost groaned aloud. She saw the pain in his face, and redoubling her caresses, "What is it, Kenneth?" she asked; "my poor Kenneth, you are not happy. Has some one been unkind to you? Ah, I know," she added quickly, in a lower tone, "it is for poor, dear father you are grieving; but you know he is so, so happy now, while here he was always sad and suffering." He sat down and drew her to the old seat upon his knee. The mother had left the room and they were quite alone for the moment. "How long since you sat here last!" he said, "and how glad I am to have you in the old place again." And truly he was, yet peradventure not entirely for her own sake. To hold this sweet young creature close, to pet and caress her to his heart's content, was it not some slight relief to the longing desire to embrace that other one who was dearer still? Had his thoughts some magnetic influence upon Marian's that led her, the next instant, to look up in his face and ask for news of "that pretty Miss Lamar"? "What do you know of her, little one?" he asked gently smoothing the shining hair, conscious of the tell-tale blood mounting to his forehead, but avoiding the curious gaze of the soft, bright eyes. "I saw her in church the Sunday before you left, and thought her very sweet and pretty. And do you know, Kenneth," giving him a hug and an arch, bewitching smile, "it's all my own notion and I never told anybody before, but I've had a sort of presentiment that some day you would make her my sister. Ah, I've always wanted a sister so much! But oh, Kenneth, I didn't mean to pain you!" she cried, noting the expression of his face. "Please forgive me and I'll never mention it again." "Don't, darling!" he said hoarsely. "Marriage is not for me. I can not tell you why," as he read the question in her eyes; "but," with a strange, forced smile, "I want my little sister always to lay her plans to devote herself to the dear mother while she lives, and if it should please God to take her away first, then to come to be the light and joy of her bachelor brother's home." She half withdrew herself from his arms, her features working with contending emotions. "What is it, little sister? Do you not love me? do you not want to share my home?" he asked soothingly.