Sometimes Lyttleton drew her on to talk of herself, her home, her absent brother, and asked many questions in regard to him, which Marian answered readily because it was a pleasure to speak of Kenneth. She was eager in his praise, she would have delighted to show him to her new friend. "You and he were both born at Glen Forest?" Lyttleton one day remarked, inquiringly. "No; only I," Marian said, a slightly troubled look coming into her eyes; "I and the brothers and sisters who died very young. Kenneth is many years older, and it was when he was a babe that my parents came here to live." "Ah? and where did they live before that? where was Kenneth born?" "Somewhere in eastern Tennessee; I cannot tell you exactly, for there was no town, no settlement, just my father's cabin in a little clearing he had made in the forest, and another, a neighbor's, half a mile away." Marian spoke hastily, with half-averted face and a perceptible shudder. "Why that shudder, my sweet girl?" he asked, gently pressing her hand, which he had taken in his. "I was thinking of the terrible occurrence that led my father and mother to abandon the spot," she said in low, tremulous tones; "an attack by the Indians in which several were killed. It is scarcely ever alluded to in the family and I never heard the full particulars." "Then we will speak no more of it," he said, and began to talk of other things. Some days later they were again alone together; they had been climbing the hills till quite weary, and were now resting, seated side by side upon a fallen tree, within sight of Glen Forest, the pretty mountain stream that flowed past it singing and dancing almost at their very feet. Marian had her lap full of wild flowers which she was arranging in a bouquet, Lyttleton watching her with a curious smile on his lips, glancing now at the deft-fingers, now at the glowing cheeks. She looked very pretty, very sweet and innocent; she had thrown off her hat and the dark brown curls fell in rich masses over neck and shoulders. Caius, upon her other side, seemed to be keeping jealous watch over her, regarding Lyttleton with something of a distrust she did not share; she had perhaps never been so happy before in all her short life. Neither had spoken for several minutes, when Lyttleton, leaning over, said softly, "Do you know, pretty one, that I leave you to-day?" Marian dropped her flowers and looked up with a start, her cheek paling, and her eyes filling with tears. "Shall you be sorry to see me go?" he asked tenderly, taking her hand and pressing it to his lips. Her eyes fell, her lip quivered, one bright drop rolled quickly down her cheek. It was a rude awaking from her blissful dream. "Oh, why did you come at all," she sobbed, "if you must go away again? and so soon!" She did not see his exultant smile.